


Disjunction

by moolktea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Spoilers for DMC5, implied vergil/v, nero is oblivious, nero propaganda, starts off nero/kyrie but isn't really, this is au where dante and nero aren't related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-06 04:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moolktea/pseuds/moolktea
Summary: “So what you’re trying to tell me is that my girlfriend and my business partner and maybe best friend are in love with each other,” Nero says slowly, not quite able to make the sentence sound any less absurd in his mind.In which Nero receives some very startling revelations about his love life, and deals with the ensuing series of crises that follow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> am super new to DMC in general (AKA I started playing dmc5 about a week ago then went back and watched playthroughs of all the other dmcs) but I love danero and kyrico a lot so........this happened
> 
> Post DMC5, mild spoilers
> 
> Kyrie, Nico, and Nero don't live in Fortuna anymore because Plot convenience and I couldn't figure out how DMC geography worked.

The advent of what Nero will, looking back on this incident in the future, later dub as the Great Love Dodecahedron of Homosexuality, happens at breakfast, as Nero crunches away at his rainbow colored cereal.

It’s not his usual choice of food, but he blames Nico for getting him hooked on the stuff, and in between saving the world from an evil demon tree and proving to Dante that he isn’t deadweight, they really haven’t had much time to go grocery shopping.

Kyrie finishes brewing herself a cup of coffee and settles into the chair across from him, a soft, sleepy smile on her face that Nero can’t quite bring himself to look at. He still feels pretty bad about essentially ditching her to ride around with Nico this past month, but he hadn’t wanted to drag her into the danger zone, and, beyond that, he’d been admittedly consumed by the obsession to prove his worth to Dante after the whole “deadweight” business.

He’d apologized to her after everything had been settled and Dante and Vergil had disappeared into hell for some kind of bloodthirsty vacation, and, in typical Kyrie fashion, she’d patted his hand and told him that there was nothing to worry about.

Kyrie’s a real saint--most girls probably wouldn’t be all that thrilled if their boyfriend spent all his time cooped up in a van with another woman, but Kyrie manages to get along.

She gets along _really_ well with Nico, actually, which had surprised Nero back when they’d all first set up shop together. Kyrie had lived in Fortuna for most of her life until she’d followed Nero out into the city, and he’d been pretty concerned about how her sheltered innocence would fare against Nico’s…. _Nico_.

“Hey, make room, asshole!”

Only Nero’s reflexes, fine-tuned from battling demons and fighting Nico and Kyrie to get the last bag of potato chips in the pantry, manages to save his breakfast as he sweeps his cereal bowl and the jug of milk closer to him with his newly restored right hand and snatches up the cereal box with his left.

Half a second later, a large cardboard box, bulging with metal parts and sharp looking scraps slams onto the table, the shock of the impact sending crumbs of toast flying.

“Jeez, Nico,” Nero complains halfheartedly, setting the cereal box back down on the table. “Can’t you just give me one morning off?”

“Quit your bitching,” Nico retorts, flopping ungracefully into the chair next to Kyrie. “You don’t see her whining, do you?”

Kyrie, in fact, appears to be doing quite the opposite, her eyes lit up in interest as she scoots closer to Nico and the box, delicate fingers reaching out with tentative curiosity. As Nero has recently found, Kyrie’s _really_ interested in mechanics and inventions, despite never having been exposed to this sort of thing in Fortuna.

“What’s this?” she inquires softly, her tone clearly indicative of a genuine desire to learn more, and Nico beams happily.

Nero shovels his spoon into his mouth and frowns, eyes flicking between the two of them. He’s never really been great with social interactions and the like, but spending so many months living with the two of them, he likes to think that he’s gotten better at reading them, and, if he’s not wrong, Nico always smiles differently at Kyrie.

Her grin has much less of its normal hints of mania around the edges that Nero is so used to, and is softer, somehow. A mixture of something like fondness and pride.

It’s definitely weird, but so is everything else that’s been happening this month, so maybe things are just on a bizarre trend of some sort.

“Oh, just some parts for my newest baby!” Nico answers, digging her hand around in the bottom of the box and emerging with sort of squishy, disgusting looking demon appendage.

Nero jerks his cereal bowl backward, practically hugging it to his chest, but Kyrie only leans even closer, looking at Nico with wide eyes.

“It’s organic material...but how are you planning on incorporating it into another Devil Breaker?”

She’s absolutely fascinated by the stuff that Nero can’t really bring himself to care too much about, and he tunes the two of them out as Nico, encouraged by Kyrie’s curious enthusiasm, launches into a lengthy explanation of what she plans to do with said parts.

“No machinery at the breakfast table,” Nero mutters around his spoon, swallowing down the last of the rainbow-colored crumbs, but it’s pretty clear that his interruption is falling upon deaf ears. Neither of the women seems to acknowledge his statement, though, which doesn’t surprise Nero when he notices how intently they’re staring at each other. Looking at them, he feels a sudden sensation of confusion, as if he’s missing the biggest part of a puzzle that he doesn’t have the picture for.

Seeing that he clearly isn’t about to get a response anytime soon, Nero turns his attention back to breakfast, tipping the bowl into his mouth and draining the sky colored milk from it. He still isn’t quite used to having his right hand back, and it’s doing the little things, like eating cereal with both appendages, that give him the most amount of surprising satisfaction.

Marveling at the use of his own right hand, kills some time for a bit, but even as he stares at his fingers, experimentally flexing them or rubbing them together to see what human skin feels like, he can’t quite help but notice that he’s become more or less of an accessory at the table, with as much evident importance as the cereal box.

The silence stretches on, and Nero, who _really_ isn’t good with things like sitting still and being quiet fidgets underneath the table, before clearing his throat and reaching across to hook a finger around Nico’s plate, eyeing the half-eaten toast on it. “Uh, you done with that?”

Both women blink at him for a moment, as if they’d forgotten he was there.

“Well, not if you’re gonna eat it,” Nico snatches the toast up a bit too quickly to be casual, grinning cheekily, and Nero leans back in his chair, trying not to look too disappointed.

Kyrie, evidently finding amusement at Nero’s toastless expense, giggles quietly, pressing a hand to her mouth with an apologetic look at Nero. Nero opens his mouth, about to defend himself, or at least drag Kyrie back on his side, when Nico breaks the toast in half and offers a piece out to Kyrie, who accepts almost shyly, her smile turning even gentler at the action.

Uh.

Now Nero _knows_ he’s missing something.

Feeling very out of his element, Nero decides to make himself useful and busies himself with stacking the empty dishes, carrying them over to the sink. He feels oddly like they really want to be alone, but Kyrie is too nice to tell him so, and even Nico wouldn’t kick him out of his own kitchen.

“I’m gonna go wake up V,” Nero decides to excuse himself, stacking a couple of pieces of toast on a plate and heading up to the guest room V has been staying in.

The other appeared sometime after Dante and Vergil had left, having become a separate entity from Vergil, somehow, and Nero didn’t exactly have the heart to leave him stranded and homeless on the street, nor did he think sending him to live with Lady and Trish over at their newly-owned branch of Devil May Cry was a particularly good idea. They were nice, sure, but they seemed to have their own thing going on, and he didn’t know if V’s proclivity towards reading poetry out loud and sitting in quiet contemplation would coincide with Lady and Trish’s hard and fast lifestyle.

He knocks softly on the door, pushing it open when he hears V’s bird squawk an invitation.

“Hello, Nero,” V says serenely, his book open in his lap.

V is spectacularly good at becoming so absorbed in his work that he forgets to do trivial things, such as sleeping and eating. Sometimes, between V’s negligence of himself, Griffon’s incessant complaining, Nico’s general antics, and Kyrie’s dangerous naivete, Nero feels like he’s the de facto caretaker of the household. “I take it you have just emerged from an encounter with the women?”

“Is that bread? I _love_ bread!” Griffon crows, diving for the plate, which Nero quickly moves out of the way.

“Hey, hey, hey, back off, you gothic turkey,” Nero warns, skirting around the avian and setting the plate of toast on the nightstand next to V. “I’m not feeding you any more bread after what happened last time. Besides, you don’t even _need_ to eat.”

“Yeah, well there are a lot of things that you humans don’t need to do, but you still do it anyway! Come on, show your favorite feathery friend some love. Hey, V! You’re not gonna finish that, are you? Give some here!”

Either Nero’s warning glare isn’t very strong or V is simply very good at ignoring it, because V splits his toast up, offering a chunk of it to Griffon, who squawks triumphantly, lunging at it energetically.

The scene reminds Nero of what had happened--and was probably still happening--downstairs, that weird... _something_ between Kyrie and Nico.

“Uh, so V,” Nero begins awkwardly, unsure of how to best phrase his sentence.

V lifts a dark eyebrow, closing his book quietly in an indication that Nero has his attention.

“You’ve been living here a couple of weeks. What, uh...Kyrie and Nico are pretty close, aren’t they?”

Despite the lack of an actual answerable question, V gives Nero an assessing sort of look, tilting his head curiously, like he’s seeing something that Nero is missing.

“Do you truly not know? Kyrie is your...girlfriend, is she not?” V asks, a significant pause in the middle of his sentence, enough to make Nero feel like he should be able to tell what V is trying to imply.

He really can’t.

Instead, he flushes slightly, ducking his head and automatically rubbing at the back of his neck. The amount of times that he’s thought about Kyrie as his girlfriend is surprisingly low--hopefully not unnaturally so, but whenever Kyrie comes up in his thoughts, he’s never referred to her in that way. Maybe he’s supposed to?

Kyrie is his first relationship, so he’s not exactly experienced in this sort of thing, and Nero didn’t exactly have anyone he could ask about this kind of thing, growing up in Fortuna.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. Wait, what does that have to do with anything?” Nero demands, and V stares at him, long and hard, until Nero has to stop himself from fidgeting underneath his gaze.

“..No reason in particular,” V finally says, and while it’s obvious to Nero that V is covering his tracks, he doesn’t know exactly what. It seems like everyone in the household is in the know about something, except for him, which bothers Nero more than it should.

“By the way,” V continues, after a pause. “I was speaking to Vergil over the phone the other day--”

Nero’s brain screeches to a halt, needing a long minute to catch up with the present, because one, _Vergil owns a phone,_ and two, Vergil was back in the overworld?

Meaning _Dante_ was back, as well. And, in typical Dante fashion, evidently hadn’t thought to inform him, being the big bastard that he was.

What was it with Dante and pulling shit like this, actually? Nero had thought that Dante had trusted him, or at least respected him slightly enough to let him open his own Devil May Cry branch, but then the older devil hunter had gone and called him _dead weight_ , of all things, something Nero still wasn’t quite over. And even after literally trying to beat it through his head that he was _useful_ , that he was worth something, Dante apparently still didn’t care enough to let Nero know he was back in town.

Not that Nero cares, of course.

Whatever Dante does is Dante’s own business, and it wasn’t as if Nero had spent the past two weeks waking up with the older man on his mind every morning, worry for what could be happening to Dante in literal Hell plaguing his thoughts.

And, even if Nero had chased almost obsessively after Dante, nearly consumed by the desire to find Dante alive and well and healthy enough for Nero to punch him in the face for calling him dead weight, that didn’t mean anything at all.

Nero is still sulking silently to himself when he realizes that V is staring at him expectantly.

“Hello! Earth to Nero?” Griffon flaps his wings agitatedly.

Nero shakes his head, trying to get the image of Dante’s impossibly smug, big head out of his mind. It doesn’t quite work.

“Uh, sorry, what?”

“Due to having no memories prior to the point where Vergil separated himself from me, I find that I am rather...lacking in certain areas. Vergil, perhaps, feels something like responsibility for it, and offered the resources of his home to me to further expand my knowledge.”

“Wait, Vergil has a house? Last I checked, it seemed pretty ...broken. And I didn’t think he’d have much time to go real estate shopping while he was busy stabbing himself and whatnot. Seems like spending all your time sitting on a gigantic demon throne would limit your options.”

“He has since relocated himself to a more suitable area,” V replies in a nonanswer, and Nero thinks it’s probably better not to pry. As long as Vergil isn’t living underneath a cardboard box of some sort, it’s probably fine.

“Putting that aside, the point is, that I will likely be absent for a few days or more. And I would require transportation.”

So, essentially, V wants Nero to carpool him to a playdate at Vergil’s. And Nero’s going to be alone again with Kyrie and Nico, who are the source of his current neverending confusion.

“I mean, sure. It’s not like you have to ask for permission, V. I guess I can get Nico to take you? You know how she is, though. Won’t do anything if there’s nothing in it for her.”

Nero supposes that he’ll end up having to play errand boy for Nico and fetch her a bunch of fresh monster parts or be her test subject for her inventions again, but it’s not too bad of a deal. V deserves something nice to happen to him, anyway, after all the shit he’s been through.

“Thank you, Nero,” V says, a lull in the conversation filling the room. “And...I certainly hope that you figure it out. It’s a bit surprising that you can’t connect the dots, but...no matter.”

V smiles in his mysterious, frustrating way, and Nero takes the empty plate back from the nightstand, deciding to worry about all of this later. He pauses at the top of the apartment stairs for a moment, shoving his intrusive thoughts about Dante and Kyrie and Nico away.

He has a favor to ask for, after all.

 

* * *

 

With V happily at Vergil’s reading a billion books in the half-demon’s crusty looking library or whatever emo nerds like them wanted to spend their time doing, Nero can safely wallow in his own regret as he barely stops his head from smacking into the van window for the fifth time that morning.

“Hey, you got precious cargo back here!” Nero snaps, shielding the side of his head with a hand and carefully righting himself with the other.

Nico flips him off with one hand and adjusts the rearview mirror to smirk at him with the other, effective leaving control of the van to the mercy of gravity, and Nero decides that, for the sake of his own safety, he should avoid pissing Nico off until the crazy woman has safely parked.

“Um, sorry, Nero,” Kyrie says softly, her eyes wide and concerned as she twists around in the passenger seat to look at him, and Nero hurriedly wipes away all traces of displeasure from his face, even as his stomach flips unpleasantly when the van hits another particularly nasty bump in the road. “I can switch places with you if you want.”

_“No!”_

Both he and Nico are in agreement about something, at least, even if Nico’s probably doing it because she’s sick of sitting next to Nero and listening to him bitch about her driving. That, and Kyrie’s much better at reading maps than Nero is.

For Nero, it had been pretty obvious to see, from the way Kyrie’s face had looked when Nico had clambered into the van, that she’d wanted to sit up front for some reason. Nero wasn’t about to question it--maybe she just liked the view up there or something, but he definitely wasn’t about to let _Kyrie_ of all people get knocked around by the forces of gravity and terrifying driving.

“Remind me why I’m here again?” Nero grumbles, mostly to himself, but Nico’s sharp ears catch wind of it anyway.

“ ‘Cause you owe me for carting around the animal tamer and his chicken around the other day. I gotta say, though, he was way less of a whiner than you were.”

“I know that part, Nico. I meant, what do you need me for, besides to get knocked around for your weird amusement?”

Kyrie and Nico exchange a look, at that, and Nico gives her a silent little nod as they share some sort of mental communication. Must be some kind of obscure girl telepathy thing.

Then, Kyrie smiles at him again, something like quiet pride on her face as she informs him, “Nico’s promised me to try and quit smoking, actually! And...I heard it helps when you do stuff to take your mind off of it. So I wanted to take Nico somewhere nice to go shopping or something.”

Nero must look as surprised as he feels, because Nico, almost shyly tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, twisting around to study Nero’s expression.

“What? You look like I just done ran over your pet cat! You really that shocked that girls like us like to look nice?”

She’s deflecting from what they both know is the real topic here, and Nero, recognizing Nico’s embarrassment for what it is, rolls his eyes, scooting back into the leather seats. Neither of them are very good at sentimental words and mushy shit like that--that’s more of Kyrie’s thing, always knowing what to say and how to say in a way that makes people feel better.

“First, I hope you know it’s a lot more comforting when you have at least one appendage attached to the steering wheel. And second...uh...good job, Nico.”

Nico slaps a hand on the wheel, perhaps a bit too aggressively. “Yeah, well, Kyrie here asked, and can’t exactly say no to that, can you?”

Kyrie’s cheeks turn a light pink as she ducks her head shyly. “Not at all, Nico--the decision is mostly on your part. I’m just here to provide support.”

“Ha! When you say it like that, it seems easy, but God himself couldn’t have talked me into quittin’. You got a talent there, Kyrie.”

As intriguing as it is to watch Kyrie’s blush darken, especially since Nero doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so easily flustered in his life, he can’t help but notice that the explanation is noticeably lacking one crucial part--his involvement in all of this.

He’s Nico’s friend, of course, and he’s more than happy to help her out if beating her addiction is really what she wants to do, but Nero can’t really envision himself being too useful in all of this.

“So you two are going shopping, cool. Why drag me along, then?”

“For protection, duh,” Nico says, as if Nero is the dumbest person she knows, which he probably is, but he won’t ever exactly own up to that. “Have you _seen_ how the other boys look at Kyrie when she passes by? Like she’s God’s gift to men put on this Earth.”

“Ah, Nico, that’s not…” Kyrie chimes in softly, looking so embarrassed that Nero’s worried she might faint. “Well, I guess the point kind of is that if you’re there, Nero, people might not be so...eager to approach.”

“Don’t worry, Kyrie. I’m okay with it. Just wish it wasn’t so early in the morning, maybe, but you know how I am.”

Nero leans his head back, throwing an arm over his eyes, thinking wistfully of his soft bed and warm covers. “Next time, can’t you just pretend she’s your girlfriend or something, Nico? Pretty sure you’re scary enough to drive any potential weirdos off.”

The words are lighthearted, meant mostly as a casual jibe at Nico, but somehow, the thought of the two of them together, walking hand in hand down some busy pathway of a shopping center isn’t such an impossible image in his brain. Which is weird, considering that he’s supposed to be dating Kyrie. Is dating Kyrie.

The van jerks suddenly, possibly in Nico’s revenge, and when Nico speaks again, her voice is sharper than normal, twisting something unpleasantly in Nero’s gut.

“Well, _I’m not._ You’re the one in that role, so you’d better take care of her, you hear me?”

Nico’s voice is more serious than he’s ever heard it, and, underneath that, somehow sad, in all the ways that Nero doesn’t like. Nico isn’t supposed to be sad--she’s always optimistic and hyper, looking towards the future through her smudged glasses.

Nero frowns, pulling his arm down and sitting up to properly look at Nico, opening his mouth to reply when, as per the laws of the universe, the van trembles violently, rocked by the loud sound of something exploding close to their right.

“Shit.”

The van swerves as Nico fights against gravity to regain control of the vehicle, and Nero snatches up Red Queen and Blue Rose, chancing a look out the window to see the source of the interruption.

It’s a big one, this time, a happily gargantuan demon enamored with destroying roads and buildings and terrorizing people, and Nero swears underneath his breath again, pushing himself away from the window and fishing around in his pocket.

He pulls out his wallet and tosses it into a shocked looking Kyrie’s lap, kicking open the door of the van even as Nico presses harder on the gas, accelerating their speed. They’ve done this enough times that NIco knows the drill, even without Nero having to say anything. His hand clings around the top of the van for balance as he looks properly at Kyrie.

“Go crazy with the shopping--it’s on me. Nico, I’m counting on you.”

“Nero, wait--!”

Nico nods, eyes like hardened steel, and Nero thinks he sees her hand rest gently on Kyrie’s shoulder before he leaps out of the van, rolling straight into a run, one hand wrapped around Red Queen’s hilt. He knows he can trust Nico to take Kyrie safely out of danger, and to keep her company and stop her from worrying about Nero while he takes care of the problem, and it’s easier to fight freely, knowing that two of the people he grudgingly loves are safely out of the way.

For some reason, his mind flashes briefly back to the first battle with Urizen, to coughing his guts out onto the ground as V pulled him away and Dante turned to look at him, flaming eyes narrowed with the strain of holding the demon back and _Nero, go! You’re just dead weight!_

Why is he thinking about this now? Stupid Dante, always barging in at all the wrong times.

Nero grits his teeth and shakes his head to clear his thoughts, skidding a stop as he comes closer to the large demon, noticing that several of its minions are scattered haphazardly about in the rubble, hunting for humans to further prey upon. A shrill scream directs Nero’s attention to the side, where a young girl, probably barely ten years old, is backing away, clutching a stuffed bear to her chest, her eyes wide with terror as a demon advances upon her, clearly ready to go in for the kill.

Not in this lifetime.

He leaps forward, grabbing the girl and turning her face into his chest so she won’t see how he aims Blue Rose at the demon’s head and lodges two bullets into its flesh. She’s a kid, and even if Nero can’t erase the memory of the demon attack from her mind, he sure as hell can prevent her from seeing more death.

He deposits the girl safely around the corner of a stable looking building, having to untangle her fingers from his shirt, gently patting her head to try and soothe her trembling.

“Look, uh…” he tries making his voice as gentle as he possibly can, an unwelcome image of Dante’s blue eyes and wry smile flashing through his thoughts. “Go find your parents, okay? Or one of the police officers. Just get out of here, please?”  
She swallows harshly, clinging more tightly to her stuffed bear, but nods in assent, hurrying off in the opposite direction.

Good girl.

When he returns to the disaster area, the demon is cramming an entire car into its  
mouth, apparently finding the taste of metal and oil particularly appealing. Nero himself has weird tastes, sure, but he thinks that even he has a right to judge in a situation like this.

“Hey, asshole! Had enough fun yet?” Nero taunts, craning his neck to look up at the demon, who doesn’t seem particularly impressed with him.

Well, Nero’s about to change that.

He draws Red Queen, leaping out of the way as a huge chunk of rubble slams into the exact spot where he’d been standing, using the momentum of the jump to skirt around to the back of the demon, delivering an uppercut to the thing’s leg. It roars in pain, and predictably attempts to kick him like he’s some sort of annoying fly, but a quick wire snatch upwards pulls him easily out of the way.

Nero really isn’t prepared for this, the relative peace they’d all enjoyed lulling him into a false sense of security for the past couple of weeks or so, and it’s pretty easy for him to tell that this won’t be a simple fight. He should back out, but with Vergil probably currently railing V against a stack of books and Lady and Trish probably out on a date somewhere, and Dante...being Dante, Nero’s clearly the only devil hunter available for duty.

Besides, he’s gotten stronger in just this last month. He isn’t dead weight anymore.

“Little mortal,” the demon growls at him, disgust evident in his tone, and Nero is pretty tired of his enemies always using this same insult. Which part of him is _little?_

Well, maybe compared to men like Dante he is, Dante, with his strong jaw and broad chest and the large muscles in his back that rippled with tension every time he swung his sword.

Nero is just beginning to think that his thoughts are maybe turning a little weird when he suddenly finds himself flat on his back, the air knocked from his lungs and a sharp, wet pain burning its way into his side.

The demon’s claws are a lot sharper than they look.

He blames Dante, really.

Through his blurred vision, he can vaguely make out the shape of the demon’s enormous hand rearing up, probably ready to flatten him against the concrete like a Nero-shaped pancake.

Not good.

Nero tenses, trying to push himself up and roll out of the way, to force his muscles to dodge the incoming blow, but his body is responding awfully slowly to him. The gash in his side hasn’t quite managed to heal up yet, blood still sluggishly leaking from the open wound, and the blood loss is getting to Nero’s head, little floating stars dancing in front of his eyes and dizziness overtaking his sense of direction.

_Ah. Kyrie’s gonna kill me._

Something crashes into him, the impact jarring his bones, and Nero wildly thinks that this isn’t as painful as he’d thought it would be, that the demon’s hands were maybe a lot lighter than he thought, but when he lets his head fall back, he catches a glimpse of red.

A lot of it.

“You look like you need a little help, kid.”

Nero’s eyes snap upwards, to where Dante’s face looms over him, his ice blue eyes sharp with something like concern. Dante’s large hand curls around Nero’s shoulder from where he’s holding him, the man’s other arm underneath Nero’s bent knees.

_Oh._

The sight of Dante sets off something like a small explosion in the pit of Nero’s stomach, leaving little fluttery aftershocks and a spike of warmth rushing through his veins, prickling at the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

Nero is certain that the feeling is the desire to slap Dante in his smug face.

“You okay?” Dante asks, his grip around Nero tightening a bit as he leans in a little closer, and Nero can see the rough stubble at Dante’s chin, the strong build of Dante’s chest peeking out from the open collar of the shirt.

The gap in Nero’s side is quickly closing, thanks to his demonically-enhanced healing, and his vision is returning to normal, and when he’s absolutely certain that Dante isn’t just some blood loss induced hallucination, he pushes himself out of Dante’s arms and sits up to properly look at the other man.

“And where the hell have you been?” he snaps, his tone harsher than he means to make it, but the resentment he feels at Dante having slipped away without a word and leaving him to worry over his sorry ass for so many days is seeping in, all at once, especially now that he knows that Dante has been back in town for some time now.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dante chuckles wryly, in lieu of an answer, before turning his head to look at the still rampaging demon.

He wraps his hand around the hilt of his sword, his usual smirk lighting up his ice blue eyes and Nero can’t seem to look away from him, swallowing harshly at the sight.

“I promise I’ll answer all of your burning questions later, kid. For now...looks like we got a mess to clean up.”

Dante leaps off of the edge of the mass of rubble he’d perched them on, and Nero feels his annoyance clash against the already existing warmth in his stomach, and knows he can’t just sit here and let Dante do all the work. He’d never hear the end of it, and he doesn’t need Dante thinking of him as dead weight again.

He dives after the older man, snatching up Red Queen from its place on the ground, standing at Dante’s left.

“Make it quick, then. Because I’m not letting you run out of this one, Dante.”

Dante tilts his head then, giving Nero a half-lidded look, a wry little smirk twitching at his lips. It’s almost...fond, weirdly so.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Without having to say much more to each other, the two of them dive into battle, Nero well-attuned to the older man’s fighting patterns after having observed him for so long.

Slapping Dante would just have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now with 100% more lady/trish  
> didn't manage to get this out as fast as i hoped but at least it got done  
> tw for referenced homophobia

“You’re concussed, kid,” Dante informs Nero patiently as Nero leans heavily against him, teeth gritted as he tries to stumble forward.

The world drops out unpleasantly underneath him, and only Dante’s thick forearm hastily wrapped around his waist stops him from smashing face first into the concrete. Nero shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, but the movement really only serves to make the nausea he feels even worse.

Damn it.

He can’t be doing this, especially not in front of _Dante_.

“You need me to carry you?” Dante chuckles, one eyebrow raised, but something tells Nero that the offer isn’t as much of a joke as Dante tries to make it seem.

“Screw you, old man. I’m not dead weight,” Nero hisses in reply, well aware that Dante’s arms around him are pretty much the only thing keeping him upright at the moment.

“I’m aware. Have been since you punched me in the jaw, actually. But I don’t know about you--I sure don’t want to stick around this decaying demon corpse any longer than I have to. Besides, the pizza’s getting cold, and I left Lady and Trish in charge of the place. They’ll burn it down if we don’t get back quick.”

Nero blinks slowly, trying to think through the pounding in his head. Dante is extending some sort of unspoken invitation to him to go back with him to what is presumably the Devil May Cry shop.

While the thought of pizza at the moment sends another wave of nausea through his stomach, the idea of cornering Dante in his own home and finally getting all of his questions answered is a tempting prospect, one that Nero can’t really refuse.

“Okay, fine,” Nero concedes, but pushes himself away from Dante, forcing himself to remain upright as best as he can. “But I can walk on my own.”

Thank God for enhanced healing--it won’t be quite enough to erase the effects of a concussion, but at least his sense of balance is rapidly being restored. He can’t even imagine how it would feel to be _carried_ by Dante all the way back to the shop, especially when gawking citizens are easily roaming about. 

“Sure you can.”

Still, Nero thinks that Dante is walking a little too carefully behind him, watching him with a critical eye, like he thinks Nero will fall over any second. Nero thinks so too, actually, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

They make their way slowly over to Devil May Cry without further incident, and Nero leans his aching head against the brick walls of the porch as Dante fiddles with his keys, throwing the door open with a loud, mocking “I’m home, honey!”

“That’s a warning for the girls,” Dante informs him, in a quieter tone, clearly meant for just the two of them. “In case they’re…in the middle of something, if you know what I mean.”

“So generous of you.”

He receives a light laugh in response, the sound soothing and pleasant in his ears, stirring up those annoying fluttering feelings in his stomach again. It’s probably his concussion that’s making him weird like this. Nero can’t really think of another reason for the unnatural flashes of heat he keeps feeling whenever Dante meets his eyes.

“Alright, you should probably sit down.”

Dante wraps a gentle hand around Nero’s arm, tugging him lightly, but carefully into the shop, and Nero is too tired of moving at this point to protest much, obediently following Dante to his raggedy looking couch, collapsing onto the cushions like a boneless doll and laying his arm over his eyes.

It’s been a long, long day, despite the fact that it’s probably only around noon, and he feels exhaustion crashing over him in gentle waves, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. Nero’s already been woken up early by Kyrie and Nico for their little day out together, and he’d spent a lot of the previous night lying awake, bothered by his own repetitive thoughts about Dante’s supreme assholery and Kyrie and Nico’s odd behavior and about whether V was remembering to eat properly over at Vergil’s.

But mostly about Dante.

He’s thinking about Dante now, actually, probably because the whole couch smells like him. Even the cushion that Nero’s head is laying against smells like him, and it’s infuriating how _nice_ it all is.

A large hand presses against his shoulder, shaking him gently, the sharp sound of snapping near his ears, and Nero groans, lowering his arm and trying to push the hand away.

Dante is leaning over him again, a sympathetic smirk on his face as he kneels on the floor next to the couch.

“Hey, no sleeping. I know my couch is comfortable, but can’t have you drifting off while you’ve still got that head injury. It’s just bad form, you know?”

Dante is right, as much as he hates to admit it. Staying awake is one of the standard rules when dealing with a head injury.

“Whatever,” Nero says sluggishly, shifting on the couch, his bones feeling like jelly. It must have been a harder blow to the head than he’d thought, to make him feel so ridiculously _weak_.

Dante, seemingly satisfied with Nero’s agreement, snatches up the pizza box resting on the table, which looks as if it’s one strong gust of wind away from falling apart, somehow opening it up with one hand. Collapsing in his office chair and putting his feet up on his desk, he takes an inhumanly large bite out of the slice, and Nero finds himself with nothing better to do than to watch Dante eat, blinking hard as he tries to stay awake.

“You said you’d answer my questions,” Nero prompts, remembering why he’d agreed to come to the shop in the first place.

The man swallows his pizza, speaking thickly around the crust still in his mouth in an impressive display of his lack of table manners. “That I did. What do you want to know?”

Now that Nero’s actually faced with the opportunity to ask, he suddenly doesn’t know what to say. Probably a good question would be something like “How are things with you and Vergil” or “What did you do in Hell for three weeks” or “How did you get to be such a massive asshole,” just casual stuff like that.

“Why did you leave me behind?” is what comes out of Nero’s mouth instead, and his face burns the moment the question leaves his lips. He turns his head away so he doesn’t have to see Dante’s reaction, which will probably be to laugh at him.

Dante is oddly silent, and Nero hears the sound of the box being put back onto the table. The legendary Devil Hunter is actually giving up his precious pizza for a question and answer session with Nero?

He’s definitely concussed. Hallucinating, maybe.

“Needed you to protect the overworld, kid.”

Nero bites at his lip, his nails digging into his side as he forces himself to sit up, the blood rushing from his head at the sudden motion, forcing him to lean heavily against the back of the couch, one gloved hand pressed against his forehead.

“That’s such shit, and you know it. Lady and Trish are here--the two of them are enough to wipe out anything that isn’t your brother on a power-hungry rampage. The real reason is because, even after everything, you still don’t trust me, huh? Punching you in the face wasn’t enough to show you that I’m worth something? Defeating your brother wasn’t enough?”

Nero swallows down the harsh disappointment he feels, still avoiding looking into Dante’s face. He just wants to mean something to Dante--is that really too much to ask?

“Nero…” Dante begins, but then trails off like he doesn’t know what to say.

Good. If Dante wants to feed him more lies, he might as well just shut up now.

“I guess I just assumed,” Nero continues, unable to stop himself now that’s he’s begun, the feelings he’s been harboring for months now rising to the surface in a bitter taste in his mouth. “That you giving me the Yamato meant something. That you sending me that sign on the van meant something. But you just see me as a kid, right?”

“No. I don’t.”

The honesty in Dante’s voice forces Nero to finally look at him. The other man’s expression is carefully guarded, clear conflict flickering in his eyes as he stands up, pulling up a chair next to the couch and sitting in it, his elbows pressed against his knees and his fingers rubbing against his temples.

Nero almost feels bad for pushing Dante this far. Maybe it’d be better for the both of them if he just apologize and let Dante go on about his own business. But he thinks that this is the closest Dante has come to being open with him, and he can’t let this opportunity go just yet. If he does, he will never be able to stop thinking about it.

“Then what?”

“I see you as you are, Nero, even if I keep calling you ‘kid.’ I know how much you’ve grown up over the years. But there’s a lot of shit going on, especially in the underworld. I just...don’t want you to get hurt,” Dante sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. The answer does little to quell Nero’s satisfaction as he glares at Dante, clenching his hands into tight fists.

“I’m not _weak_ , I don’t need you to protect me! You might be the legendary Devil Hunter, but I’ve done plenty on my own, old man!”

 _“I know!_ I know you aren’t weak--but I want to protect you anyways.”

Nero inhales shakily, pressing his palms against his knees.

“You don’t do this with the others,” he points out, forcing himself to sound rational. “With Lady and Trish and even your _own brother_ \--you bring them into dangerous situations all the time. Not because you don’t care about them, but because you know they can handle themselves. Why am I any different?”

“Because I--”

Dante cuts himself off then, shaking his head like he’s trying to restrain himself from saying something, which Nero doesn’t think he’s ever done before. Dante is generally a man of blunt honesty, rarely bothering to filter his words, and usually uncaring of what others might think of him as a result.

“Because you’re important to me, Nero. In a different way. I hate seeing the girls and sometimes Vergil get hurt, but when it’s you, it’s...worse. You...matter a lot.”

The fluttery feelings return in full vengeance as Nero ducks his head, feeling almost shy at Dante’s response. That hadn’t really been what he’d expected the other man to say. He’d had a clever, biting retort lined up to parry whatever other bullshit Dante had been about to spew at him, but now he’s left scrambling for a response in the face of Dante’s honesty.

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were back?” Nero asks once he manages to find his voice again. He can tell that his tone has become much, much softer, but he can’t help the gentleness that creeps into his words, not when he feels so _warm_ on the inside.

“Ah. That’s a little more complicated.”

Dante looks relieved that Nero doesn’t appear to be mad at him anymore, but from the tension in Dante’s posture, as casual as it might first appear to be, Nero can tell that he’s touched on a sensitive topic.

“I assumed that you were happy. Settled in with your... _girlfriend_ and all that. You don’t need an old man like me butting into your business.”

Nero blinks in surprise--Dante thought that Nero wouldn’t want to see him?

He’d laugh at the irony of the situation if he so wasn’t directly involved in it.

“I mean, I am happy, I guess. That doesn’t mean you can’t come over, though,” Nero grudgingly admits, his cheeks flushing. He pointedly refuses to remember how he’d perked up every time a new visitor came to their door or their phone rang, a hidden, small part of him hoping it’d be Dante.

Dante shrugs, looking somewhat uneasy.

“I’d rather not get in the way of you and your lady friend. Who knows what you two might be getting up to, eh?”

Nero feels like the topic has gotten away from him, somehow, that Dante is sinking back underneath his normal facade of carefree attitude, but before he can respond, a door slams open somewhere from the upper level, and the sound of Lady and Trish’s heavy boots against the wooden stairs echoes through the shop.

“Hey, ladies,” Dante waves lazily. “Just got done having some fun, I see.”

Nero frowns, not quite picking up what Dante is putting down until he turns his head to see Trish, who is wearing even _less_ than usual, somehow. In fact, Nero thinks that she might actually be wearing just her underwear.

“Uh, sorry--” Nero chokes out, turning his head abruptly away from the women, looking stubbornly at anything that isn’t the two of them.

He’d seen Lady naked when he’d rescued her from Artemis, sure, but in this sort of situation, it felt a lot more personal and private, like he was intruding in something intimate. He hasn’t even seen _Kyrie_ like this.

“What are you doing here, Nero?” Trish asks, suddenly sounding very close to his ear, and Nero almost jumps in surprise, turning his eyes upwards to the ceiling as he tries to answer her through his increasingly flustered thoughts. “Not that you’re unwelcome. You’re certainly a nicer sight than _Dante_.”

Nero would have to disagree with that statement, actually.

“Kid’s got a concussion,” Dante answers for him, holding his hand out to Lady as she snatches the pizza box up from the table and flops onto the couch next to Nero. She puts a slice of pizza in his hand, and the two of them engage in some sort of bizarre synchronized eating activity.

“I’m keeping him here for a bit, just to keep an eye on him. Gotta keep him out of trouble and all that.”

“You’re pretty quiet, Nero. Did you hit your head that hard?” Lady’s tone is light and teasing, but he can hear the undercurrent of worry in it.

“I’m, uh...fine,” he clears his throat, fidgeting awkwardly on the couch, trying very hard not to accidentally brush against Trish’s very bare leg on his right. “It’s not that bad.”

Dante’s wry chuckle saves him from having to fall over his own words any further.

“I think you’re scaring him, Trish. This kid’s a real prude.”

“I’m _not-_ -!” Nero protests, feeling his face burn. Why had he chosen to stay here, again? “I just...I’m not really in situations like this often--not that you would know, pervert!”

“Don’t you? You live with your girlfriend, though,” Lady points out, clearly amused at Nero’s embarrassment.

“I mean, we don’t...we don’t really…” Nero trails off, unwilling to divulge much more on matters like these.

In all the years they’ve been dating, this subject is one that has crossed Nero’s mind several times, but never for the right reasons. He’d never really found himself wanting to do this sort of thing with Kyrie.

It’s not physical contact that’s the problem, he thinks.

When they hug, it’s nice--Kyrie is soft and warm and runs soothing fingers through his hair and presses kind lips to his forehead like butterfly wings fluttering against his skin. But he’s always made their real kisses quick, a chaste motion he never really tries to dwell on, because Kyrie is expectant and accepting, waiting for him to push harder against her and somehow, he finds that he really doesn’t want to.

Besides, Fortuna has always had strict tenets about this sort of thing, insisting that women be “kept pure” until marriage. Nero, personally, had found this to be a huge pile of bullshit, but it certainly didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse to avoid sleeping with Kyrie, especially since Kyrie seemed just as avoidant of the topic as he was.

“Hold up, so you’ve been dating this girl for how long, again? And you still haven’t had sex even _once?_ ” Dante asks, incredulously, blunt and tactless as usual. Of course, Nero’s celibacy would be impossible for someone like Dante to comprehend.

“S-she’s saving herself for marriage!” Nero sputters, feeling the sudden urge to melt into the floor. “Besides, it’s none of your business, anyway!”

Trish kicks Dante’s leg, likely as a nonverbal “shut the hell up,” before turning to Nero, her sharp eyes turning gentler. It’s weird--Lady and Trish always look at him in this...soft sort of way, but it’s actually kind of nice in a way that Nero can’t lie to himself about.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Trish says, and Nero wonders when Kyrie and the women have even ever met. Probably during the times where Nico and Kyrie have gone out together, returning only well after dark. “Does she know you’re here? I wouldn’t want her to be worried.”

“Huh? Oh, well, I’ve got Nico keeping her company. She’s a crazy bitch, but she always makes Kyrie happy.”

“...you jumped out of the van to go fight demons again, didn’t you?” Lady nudges his elbow, and he flushes. He’s been developing a pattern of sorts, evidently.

“Well, they’re doing...girl...stuff, anyway!” Nero tries to defend himself as the other three chuckle lightly, Trish’s hand gently patting his head, her long fingers brushing through his hair in a soothing motion. “They don’t need me around when they’re hanging out together. The only thing I need to be worried about is my wallet after they’re done with it.”

Trish and Lady exchange a knowing glance over his head, highly reminiscent of the way V had looked at him when Nero had asked him about the whole Nico-Kyrie situation, and Nero frowns, feeling both confused and impatient.

“What? You both did this...this _thing_ \--like you know something that you aren’t telling me.”

“Nero…” Trish’s hand on his head presses down a little more firmly, and he twists to face her general direction, still trying to keeps his gaze no lower than at her neck. “That is...how do you feel about Kyrie and Nico?”

It’s the exact question he’s been asking himself for a while now, but, now that it comes from a third party, it’s easier for Nero to think differently about the matter.

“I’m glad that they get along? And it’s nice to know that Kyrie will have someone to help her out if something ever happens to me. I don’t mind them hanging out with each other, if that’s what you mean.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Lady and Trish seem to digest his words and contemplate how to respond. Nero looks between the two of them, his confusion not helped by how silent Dante seems to be, especially since usually Dante never shuts up.

“I’m going to be honest with you Nero, because I know that you’ll listen and won’t end up doing something stupid. About this kind of thing, at least,” Lady finally says, and Nero thinks that maybe she’s placing her expectations of him a bit too high. Nero absolutely cannot vouch for his own intelligence at any given point in the future.

“Kyrie and Nico _like_ each other.”

From the unusual gravity in her voice, Nero feels like he supposed to have been struck with some kind of intense revelation, like he’s supposed to be shocked or surprised or maybe angry. But maybe it’s the concussion still rattling his brain around inside of his skull, or maybe it’s just because a part of him has always known--whatever the reason, he ends up staring into Lady’s mismatched eyes, unsure of how he feels at all.

“Okay...So what you’re trying to tell me is that my girlfriend and my business partner and maybe best friend are in love with each other,” Nero says slowly, not quite able to make the sentence sound any less absurd in his mind. “...I’ve seen a lot of shit. But this is pretty weird.”

Dante laughs, probably fully at Nero’s situation, the stupid old man, rubbing at the stubble on his chin with a rough hand. “Yeah, it happens, kid. Sometimes you just gotta get used to it. Runs in the business, I guess.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lady snaps, unwinding herself from her corner of the couch and stretching her legs out over Nero’s lap to nudge at Trish’s bare thigh with her toes. Nero stifles the strangled sort of squeak threatening to escape him and his gaze shoots back upwards to the ceiling so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. He presses his hands uncertainly near his sides, not wanting to accidentally touch Lady, but not quite knowing what to do with them either. “Like you would know.”

Nero thinks about himself, currently squished between a nearly naked Trish, with Lady’s long legs across his own. Maybe Dante _does_ know what he’s talking about and isn’t just spouting random words out the ass as usual.

Trish’s fingers gently flick at Lady’s toes, prompting a giggle from the other and an exasperated eye roll from Dante, but Nero finds himself caught by Trish’s expression, which is so gentle and un-Trishlike that Nero can’t quite believe that it’s on her face. It seems familiar, though, probably because it is--he’s seen it over and over again, mirrored on Nico’s face whenever she looks at Kyrie.

They’re so right, and, now that Nero thinks back on it, he really can’t tell how it wasn’t immediately obvious to him before. Maybe he’s just that incompetent in the social sphere of things, or maybe because it’s hard to believe that Kyrie, who so closely followed the word of the Order would engage in... _this_.

“Does it bother you that much, kiddo? No offense, but I never really pegged you as a ‘ladies’ man’ kind of guy. The opposite, actually.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Nero nearly chokes for a second, the back of his neck suddenly feeling very hot, his cheeks pink, until he notices the standard asshole smirk on Dante’s face. It’s just Dante being Dante, then. He tries to ignore the last part, shoving it away for possible further inspection at some unknown point in the future and focuses on the problem at hand.

He loves Kyrie, he really does. There’s really nothing he wouldn’t do for her and there’s never been a moment when he’s hesitated to lay down his life for hers. She’s always been there for him, has always stood by him, even when the rest of the church was against him, even when her brother’s death is almost completely his fault and he really doesn’t deserve any of the kindness she chooses to give him.

Anybody would be lucky to have Kyrie.

And if Nico is the one person lucky enough to have Kyrie’s attention, then good for her. Nico’s crazy and sometimes an annoying bitch, but Nero loves her, in the same way he thinks might love Kyrie, and if this one simple solution can make them both happy, then Nero doesn’t really see a problem.

“No, I guess it doesn’t. But, I mean...Nico’s been living with us for a while now. How come Kyrie hasn’t like...you know. Got together with her and stuff?”

“Because you exist?” Trish asks, her face incredulous, like she can’t believe he’d actually asked that question. “Damn, maybe Dante’s right for once.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are staring at him in an assessing sort of way, and Nero blushes underneath the attention, freeing his left arm to rub at his right, a nervous habit that he’s developed ever since regrowing his human arm.

“I know that I exist! It’s not like she can’t just break it off with me, though.”

Dante raises an eyebrow at him, nudging Nero’s ankle with his sock-covered foot, the contact sending little electric tingles shooting up the base of Nero’s spine. “Well, don’t sound _too_ heartbroken there, kid. Thought you were in _love_.”

The older man’s tone has Trish and Lady shooting sharp looks in his direction, but Nero is more focused on the grounding feeling of Dante’s foot against his leg. He pushes back experimentally against the other, eyes flickering upwards to meet Dante’s.

“If she’s happy, I’m happy,” Nero says, with something like finality in his voice. “It’s not so bad that we can’t be together.”

“You’re a bit too nice, Nero. Maybe more so than is good for you, actually.”

Lady pats him on the head, gently, like she’s proud of him, and Nero doesn’t think he can take much more embarrassment today. He covers his face with his hand, leaning back awkwardly while trying not to do something disastrous, such as accidentally smash his crotch into Lady’s thigh in front of her girlfriend, who could probably snap his neck with a finger.

But at least they're happy together, which is more than he can say for him and Kyrie, especially knowing what he knows now.

He’ll break up with Kyrie, then, because Kyrie is gentle and patient and would never do anything if she thought it would hurt him, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness or opportunity to be with Nico.

He drags his hand downwards, looking between the other three wearily.

“I don’t suppose you three have any advice on breaking up with girls?”

“Well,” Dante begins, before both Lady and Trish kick at the edge of his rolling chair, sending him flying well away from the couch.

“Never mind, then.”

 

* * *

 

Luckily for him, the perfect opportunity to have a conversation of this nature with Kyrie rears its head less than a week later, when V is off on a slumber party at Vergil’s and Nico is locked up in her workroom, struck by a frenzy of creative fury that requires that she not be interrupted for anything for the next 72 or so hours.

Kyrie can clearly tell that something is up, because Nero has never been very good at hiding his emotions, and probably because the words “We need to talk” have not, in any historical context, ever preceded something positive.

“So, um...what is it, Nero?” Kyrie asks, her eyes wide and innocent, and Nero feels his stomach flip anxiously as he prays to a God that he doesn’t believe in that Trish and Lady and his own intuition were all right about this.

Nero coughs delicately, rubbing at the inside of his right wrist a bit too hard, feeling the rawness of the skin underneath his fingers from how much he’s been abusing it due to the sudden influx of nerves this week. Facing the new demon king with one arm? Easy. Potentially hurting Kyrie? He’d rather cut off the other arm and offer himself up to Urizen on a silver platter.

‘We’ve, uh...been together for a really long time, right?” Nero tries to swallow, but his mouth is suddenly ridiculously dry. “And...well...if I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?”

The trepidation and confusion in her eyes are clear, but she nods anyway, and Nero exhales slowly, digging his nails into his arm underneath the table. There’s no turning back now.

“Do you like Nico? As in...in the way that you’re supposed like me.”

Kyrie isn’t fast enough to cover up her own expression of shock and something like fear as it flits across her face before she tries for a smile. Only years and years of knowing Kyrie lets Nero see just how strained it is.

“What? Why would you think that?” Kyrie deflects, covering one of her hands with the other, but the motion can’t hide the tremble that’s beginning to appear in her hands. It’s not an admission, but it’s not exactly a denial, either--she’s trying to play it neutral.

She’s afraid of his response, clearly, and Nero can’t think of why at the moment, even if he feels like he should know the answer. He isn’t being that aggressive, is he?

Nero tries reaching across the table, but Kyrie jerks away, as if guarding herself against him, so he stays as still as he possibly can, pushing down the slight sting of hurt he feels at the action. He’s never wanted Kyrie to look at him in this way, the way that everyone else in the Church did when he first manifested his demonic right arm.

“You two spend a lot of time with each other, I mean, and I know that isn’t really a good explanation of things, but also...I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way that you look at her or how she looks at you or how you guys always want to sit next to each other or maybe how you managed to talk Nico into quitting smoking. I don’t think she would have done that for just anyone, after all.”

Kyrie isn’t looking at him, her eyes roving around the kitchen like she’s looking for an escape route, and while Nero certainly doesn’t want her to feel trapped or like she has to stay here, he also needs answers.

“You don’t think that just friends can do that too, Nero? It’s not that strange to think of."

It isn’t like Kyrie to skirt around the topic like this, especially not with him. Nero sighs softly, before reaching out again, this time successfully taking her hand.

“Kyrie. You can trust me, you know?”

He tries to look as reassuring as possible, studying her face for any indication of a crack in the walls she’s putting up between them and manages to find what he’s looking for.

“...okay,” Kyrie whispers, bowing her head, her eyes looking a bit too bright for Nero’s taste, and he feels the internal alarm swelling up inside of him like a miniature explosion. He’s made Kyrie cry--how much lower can he possibly go?

Kyrie nods, biting at her lip in some sort of silent resolution to herself.

“Okay, it’s true. I...really like Nico. I know...I know that it’s wrong! And... _dirty_ , and everything, but I can’t help what I feel. Just...don't take it out on Nico, okay?”

“Wait, what?” Nero blinks, the sensation of missing something returning with sharp vengeance. Is he really just that dense? Maybe he does need a break from work--he’s been taking too many blows to the head lately. “What does that mean? I’m not _mad_ or anything!”

“Well, but...you grew up in Fortuna, too, Nero. I know you didn’t listen in church much, but even you must know how they feel about things like this. The priests always told us how love is supposed to be.”

Oh. Right.

Nero, remembers of course--it’s pretty impossible to forget something that’s been drilled into your head for nineteen years, but he’d never paid much mind to it. He’d already broken so many of the Order’s tenets, probably the biggest one being that he didn’t even believe in the god they founded their entire organization upon. Besides, he’d already been ostracized his entire life, even before getting his demonic arm, for being a bastard child left on the doorstep of the orphanage, for possibly being the son of a whore. What was one more black mark on his record?

But he’s forgotten that Kyrie isn’t the same, not at all.

He never really understood why Kyrie and Credo hung around him while they were growing up, why they voluntarily chose to stick by him when the two of them were so well-esteemed in the community, the golden paragons of what was “right” in the Order. Kyrie was always at the center of attention, drawing people in with her kindness and her beautiful voice and looks, while Credo was the noble protector of the Order itself. Nero was just kind of...there.

So, of course Kyrie would care about what the Order thought about her romantic inclinations, much more than Nero did.

“Kyrie, that’s not...it’s not _wrong_. Just because a bunch of stuffy old dudes in white robes said so doesn’t make it a universal law. Besides, we don’t live in Fortuna anymore--people around here don’t think that way as much. At least, I hope so.”

He hurriedly leans to the side, snatching up some napkins from the counter, and offering them to Kyrie, who takes them gratefully.

“I guess it’s not a whole lot of consolation--we lived there for a long time, after all. But if it helps, I’m behind you all the way, Kyrie. Though, I don’t really know why you’d like _Nico_ , of all people--she’s crazy.”

Kyrie gives a watery laugh and Nero feels his twisting insides loosen with relief. He doesn’t do too well with crying girls, much less when it’s _Kyrie_ who’s doing it.

“It does help, Nero. A little. I’m sorry I never told you, but...even now, I still wake up and think about whether or not all of this is right. It’s something I’ve been struggling with for a really long time.”

Something clicks in Nero’s brain, then, a slow realization followed by rapidly dawning confusion.

“Wait, so...if you’ve always felt this way, then...why did you ask to be with me?”

It was Kyrie who had made the first move towards their romantic development, after all, and Nero had mostly gone along with it both because he felt particularly close to Kyrie and because he’d wanted to make her happy.

Kyrie bites at her lip, dropping her gaze back down to the table.

“Sorry, Nero,” she apologizes again. “I kind of thought that...if I just found the right guy, maybe I wouldn’t...like girls anymore. And you were so nice and sweet and I spent so much time around you, and I knew you’d never push too hard or make me uncomfortable, so I asked you. But it doesn’t really work that way, as I’ve discovered. Maybe you’ve already guessed, but the reason why we’ve never slept together is because of...yeah.”

So both of them had been making excuses, after all.

“I’m, uh...glad you picked me, then,” Nero isn’t too sure how fitting his response is, but it’s true. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt if you ended up with some asshole guy.”

Maybe he should feel used, but he doesn’t, really, possibly because he’d never really been too deep into their relationship anyways. He’d always had a bit of a hard time seeing past their deep friendship and looking at it as something more.

Kyrie nods, wiping gently at her eyes with the napkin, but doesn’t reply, evidently waiting for him to continue speaking. He rubs at the back of his neck, the words coming more easily now that the largest obstacle between them is clearly out of the way.

“So...I guess it goes without saying, but...we’re not dating anymore. You’re free to go be with Nico, I mean.”

The nervous expression on Kyrie’s face doesn’t change, though, and he watches as she swallows, fighting with herself over something.

“Nero, I...I’m sorry if you loved me. I know I pretty much just...led you on for all these years. Especially since it was me who asked.”

“Oh, uh...no!” Nero yelps, before realizing how he must sound. “I mean, not no as in I don’t love you--I do! Just maybe not...in the romantic sense, you know? Like in the I grew up with you and you know where I’m from kind of sense. But, uh...just don’t worry about me, okay? I promise I’m fine. As long as you’re happy, Kyrie.”

Kyrie studies him for a long moment, before pulling her chair around the other side of the table and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Her auburn hair tickles his cheek as she nestles her face into the crook of his neck, her body warm against his, and it’s nice to hug her like this, in a simple gesture that doesn’t promise anything more than friendship.

“You’re really nice, Nero. A little _too_ nice. Don’t let it get you into trouble, okay?”

“How come you guys always say that?” Nero grumbles, but wraps a gentle arm around Kyrie, tilting his head upwards to look at the ceiling.

“Because it’s true. And I mean it. When you find someone else to be with, you better find someone who’ll take care of you, okay? Someone who knows how kind you really are but won’t take advantage of you for it.”

He thinks of blue eyes and a warm, strong arm around his back and _I see you as you are, Nero,_ and decides to file away Kyrie’s advice for later inspection.

“I’m not really looking for a new relationship right now, Kyrie,” is what Nero says instead, laughing lightly. “I have enough on my plate with you and Nico and V living in this apartment, anyway.”

They sit in warm, amiable silence for another minute, before Kyrie pulls away, righting herself in her chair again and smoothing out her hair with her fingers.

“So...you really think that Nico likes me back?” Kyrie asks, shyness evident in her tone.

Just then, the apartment rattles slightly, as the muffled noise of sound suspiciously similar to an explosion, mixed with Nico’s muted cursing echoes from the garage, and Nero rolls his eyes, impossibly fond of both of the women in his home.

“Looks like you can go find out for yourself,” Nero answers, smirking slightly and nodding in the direction of Nico’s workshop. “And tell Nico that I’m not paying for damage repairs anymore!”

They both know that it’s a lie, that Nero is a hopeless pushover when it comes down to it, and Kyrie bends down, gently kissing his forehead in a light touch against his skin.

“I will, Nero. And thank you.”

Then, with quick, hurried steps of obvious excitement, Kyrie races away, leaving Nero in the silence of the kitchen.

He’s allowed to contemplate by himself for about half a minute before the kitchen phone rings and he picks it up with a sigh.

“Devil May Cry,” he answers, trying to keep his tone neutral for any prospective customers that might be calling at this absurd hour of the night.

“Hey, kid,” is what he receives instead. “So, uh, funny story. I was just minding my own business, doing my own thing as usual, when those crazy bitches--and by that, I mean Lady and Trish--start jumping all over each other like it’s all-you-can-eat and they’re both the buffet--”

“Dante,” Nero interrupts, ducking his head to hide his exasperated smile. “I do _not_ want to hear this.”

“Yeah, well try _seeing_ it. Anyway, long story short, I gotta find something to do that isn’t within a fifty-foot radius of the two of them for about, say...two hours.”

There’s a slight pause at the other end of the line, as if Dante is thinking over his next words very carefully, a rare occasion in of itself.

“Probably gonna hit up a late-night pizza joint or something. Wanna come with?”

Nero thinks he can hear Kyrie’s soft giggles through the thin walls of their apartment, Nico’s lazy southern drawl wrapped around warm syllables, and feels the stirrings of warmth in the bottom of his stomach, feather-light and almost ticklish in nature.

“Let me get my jacket.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise its out of 4 chapters now   
> also the obligatory included sausage is dedicated to Ifrit

Nero ends up not being able to find his jacket after all, which is own fault, really, for forgetting to do the laundry. It’s a bit of a problem because the weather isn’t exactly the warmest, but he eventually decides that it doesn’t matter--they’re going to be indoors most of the time, anyway.

It’s past midnight, so the streets are empty, for the most part, which Nero doesn’t mind too much. Even after his right arm had returned to normal, he was still a bit wary of crowds, disliking the feelings of claustrophobia he got from being in the middle of them. Besides, empty roads are nicer to walk on, where he can be alone with just his thoughts.

Why did Dante invite him out, anyway?

It’s more than possible that the older man just feels bad for ditching him to go hang out in the underworld with Vergil, but Dante usually isn’t the repentant type, preferring to act first, think later, and apologize never. Maybe Dante’s going senile.

Nero barely gets a block away from his apartment before a loud roaring noise rushes past him, ruffling his hair and tugging at the ends of his shirt. 

Of course. The asshole always did have to make a dramatic entrance. 

“Dante,” Nero says, surprised at himself at how level his voice is, considering the circumstances. “Isn’t that one of your Devil Arms?”

Dante shrugs, pulling the collar of his red leather jacket up higher, leaning precariously over his demonically-enhanced motorcycle, looking as carefree as ever. “It’s multipurpose. No one wants to walk on an empty stomach, anyway.”

“Don’t tell me you’re riding that to the pizza place.”

“No,” Dante answers, and Nero barely has time to feel relief before he continues with,  _ “We’re  _ riding it to the pizza place.”

Oh no.  _ No way.  _

“I don’t trust you to drive that thing. Besides, there’s only enough room for you--you’re a big guy, if you haven’t noticed.”

Not that Nero has noticed. But it’s not exactly subtle, not with the way Dante’s shirt stretches so tightly across his chest or the way his folded arms stack so thickly on top of each other.

“Eh, it’ll work out. You’re small enough. And don’t worry about my driving--just hold on tight, yeah?”

Dante looks lazily expectant, as if he hardly thinks Nero will put up much of a fight, and, in all honesty, after the night he’s had, he’s too tired to engage in a verbal duel with Dante that he will likely end up losing anyway.

“If I die, I want you to know that I will come back as a demon and haunt you forever,” Nero informs him as he steps forward, clambering awkwardly onto the back of the motorcycle. There’s pretty much just enough room for him--it’s a tight fit, and he has to squish almost inhumanly close to Dante to keep himself on it.

In the very, very long list of bad ideas that Nero has ever had, including engaging the strange man who just assassinated the high pope of his church in a gunfight, running headfirst into danger just to follow Dante, and letting Nico test her new prototypes on him, this one is probably in the top three.

“Noted,” Dante sounds supremely unconcerned at Nero’s very real threat, leaning forward and revving up the engine. Nero can’t see Dante’s face from where he’s pressed into the other’s back, but he can practically feel the grin on the other’s face, and suddenly thinks that he’s made a very, very bad decision.

“Dante--” Nero warns, his fingers curling into the fabric of Dante’s jacket, preemptively holding on for dear life. 

It’s all he manages to say before the wind snatches the voice from his throat and punches the breath out of his lungs as they go flying forward. Over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and the wind whipping past them, Nero can hear Dante whooping loudly, and he barely has time to feel grateful that no one else is on the road to act as an unfortunate victim to Dante’s vehicular manslaughter before they go racing up a particularly large hill and are actually  _ airborne  _ for a minute.

Nero’s fingers twist so hard in Dante’s jacket that he’s actually worried about tearing the fabric with how tightly he’s holding onto the other. He utters a silent prayer to whichever deities may have been watching him at the moment. He’s spent about more than a decade refusing to believe in gods, but with the number of times he’s found himself praying to one lately, he might as well restart now.

Beyond his feelings of mortal terror, though, Nero has to admit that the experience is strangely exciting. It’s probably no less dangerous than being in Nico’s van on one of her road rage days, but it’s somehow so much more thrilling, whether it’s from or the open wind and the road rushing underneath him, close enough to touch, or the fact that he’s pressed so close to Dante that he can smell him, the faint scent of spice and smoke clinging to the folds of his clothing. 

Experimentally, he uncurls one of his hands from its death grip on Dante’s jacket and presses the palm of his right hand against the flat surface of Dante’s abdomen. He isn’t sure why he’s so surprised at the layer of hard muscle he feels there, but the contact makes his head light, a dizzying rush of something pleasant pumping through his veins.

Underneath his hand, he feels Dante jerk, maybe in surprise, and feels the vibration of Dante’s low chuckle as it rumbles through his chest.

“Getting curious back there, kid?”

“Shut up and focus on the road,” Nero hisses back, pressing more insistently against Dante, feeling bolder than usual.

“Your wish is my command.”

Dante speeds up, laughing as Nero’s grip tightens around him again, and Nero thinks he could live in this one moment for a very, very long time, with the wind brushing against his skin and his heart fluttering in his chest and Dante’s quickly addicting smell all floating around him.

He’s never felt more alive.

* * *

 

 

“So, kid. What’d you think?” Dante hops off, grinning in this honest, open way that has Nero’s heart rate picking up in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the near-death experience he’d just had. 

Nero waits until he can feel his limbs again before he answers, slowly trying to slide back down to solid ground. 

“I think you and Nico went to the same driving school,” he manages to choke out, even as the world tips dangerously around him.

“Woah there,” Dante says, his voice too close to Nero’s ear, a strong hand wrapping around Nero’s shoulder, easing him onto the blessed stability of the concrete ground. “Maybe we did--that woman’s a fine driver, after all.”

“In no sentence in the entire history of language should the words ‘Nico’ and ‘fine driving’ ever go in a sentence together,” Nero mutters, slowly getting his bearings back. He doesn’t shake off Dante’s concerned arm around him just yet, though. It’s nice to have it there, and Nero is too tired for his brain to keep up its Being-Mad-at-Dante act at the moment.

“It’s a matter of opinion, I guess.”

Luckily for him, Dante seems just as eager to keep contact with Nero, even as he pulls his arm back slightly so that his hand rests on the small of Nero’s back. It’s a little distracting--a  _ lot  _ distracting, actually--how much space Dante’s hand takes up, and Nero finds himself looking down, studying Dante’s other hand for what is longer than is at all necessary. 

“I thought you were hungry,” Nero huffs, when he decides that they’ve been standing here for too long and if he remains pressed so close to Dante any longer, with his mind so hazy from exhaustion, he might do something that is both reckless and regrettable.

“Sure am. Haven’t had a slice of pizza in about two hours. Pretty big gap of time, if I do say so myself.”

“Ugh. No wonder you’re so huge,” Nero grumbles, and Dante raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s all muscle, kid. You wanna feel it again?”

Nero flushes a bright red, speed walking ahead of Dante so that the other can’t see his face at the moment to use as further ammunition against him. Touching Dante had been a purely impulsive moment, developed mostly from the fact that, ever since he’d regenerated his right hand, he’d felt the compulsive need to run his fingers over something or press his hand against it, just to know what it was like to be able to actually feel things in that hand again.

Briefly, he wonders what Dante would feel like underneath the layers of clothing, how the soft, unblemished surface of his newly formed skin would brush against that of Dante’s torso. Then, he decides he probably doesn’t need to be thinking about these things.

Nero blames his rampaging thoughts on sleep deprivation.

Dante is clearly a regular at this place, if the way that the employees there greet him is any indication, with the girl behind the counter seeming especially excited to see Dante. Her expression dampens somewhat when Nero collapses into a booth across from Dante. What, she expected Dante to be alone or something?

That probably wasn’t too far off the mark, if Dante came here every time he’d gotten kicked out by Lady and Trish. No wonder Dante never had any money. Nero reminds himself to tell Dante that the doors of his apartment are always open, if Dante ever has no place to go--it would certainly save the man a lot of cash.

“So how much is it gonna be this time?” Nero pulls out his wallet, while his thoughts are still on the subject of money. He’s heard the horror stories from Lady and Trish about all the times they’ve had to treat Dante to a meal, and he doubts that this time is any different.

“Huh? Oh, don’t worry about that, kid. I’m paying.”

“You’re broke,” Nero says flatly, a statement of fact that anyone who has known Dante for longer than a day can attest to.

“Nah, not quite. I just prefer to spend money on the important things. Stuff like the water and electricity bill--that stuff can wait.”

“Important things? Like what, pizza?”

“Pizza for you.”

Nero’s mind blanks out for a good few seconds as he mentally digests Dante’s words, and opts to pick up one of the paper menus listing out the pizza varieties instead, nearly hiding his entire face behind it.

“Anything’s good here. Except for the olives,” Dante comments blithely, apparently oblivious to Nero’s silent embarrassment.

The girl from behind the counter comes up to the table to take their order, then, and Nero watches from over the top of his menu as Dante winks at the waitress, laying on the charm a bit too thickly. The resulting giggle and blush she makes annoys Nero, somehow. He’s likely irritable from the lack of sleep, and is probably just fed up with Dante’s antics. 

“And what are you having?” the girl asks him. 

Nero does his very best to remind himself that he’s supposed to be polite, and shoves away the unfounded irritation that he’s feeling. 

“Uh, double cheese, extra sausage. Thanks.”

Not the healthiest thing to be eating, but unlike Dante, he doesn’t eat this crap every day, so he might as well indulge.

Dante, of course, waits until Nero is sipping at his water and has at least half a mouthful of the liquid before he chooses to comment, “Extra sausage, huh? You sure do like your meats, kid. I knew you played for the other team.”

Nero can hardly fault himself for choking on his water, coughing into his sleeve as he glares at Dante, his face a furious red. It’s highly probable that he’s blushed more in this one hour with Dante than he has in his entire life.

“Literally, fuck you,” Nero coughs out, the second he gets his voice back, and he regrets even speaking when he sees the subtle, barely imperceptible, but oh-so-obvious shift in Dante’s expression that indicates how much fun the other man is having.

“Fuck  _ me? _ I don’t know, I’m not the one who wants all that sausage inside of me. Big things  _ come inside _ little packages, I guess.”

Actually, he regrets Dante’s entire existence.

“Dante,” Nero makes a valiant effort to keep his voice level, even as he feels the heat spreading from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears and knows just how dark red his cheeks must be. “Please shut up.”

“Sorry, can’t help it. You get embarrassed so easily,  kid. It’s cu--” 

Now it’s Dante who’s choking on his own words, shaking his head to himself, and Nero tilts his head in confusion, wondering what Dante had been about to say.

“It’s funny to watch,” Dante corrects himself.

Of course. Asshole.

He kicks weakly at Dante’s shin underneath the table in retaliation, but he really doesn’t want to hurt Dante or anything, superhuman healing be damned, so it ends up coming off more like a friendly nudge, which Dante evidently sees fit to return. Nero, of course, can’t just leave it be at that, and pokes insistently back, which quickly devolves into a weirdly engaging game between their feet.

It’s so engaging, in fact, that Nero doesn’t notice that their waitress has been standing there for a good thirty seconds without acknowledgment, staring at the two of them with unadulterated surprise.

“Uh. Sorry,” Nero apologizes sheepishly, ducking his head. Dante is wildly successful, it seems, at infecting others with his weirdness, making all those who interact with him appear strange by association. It’s probably a good indication that Nero shouldn’t be hanging out with Dante alone at one in the morning, but he can’t really find it in himself to care.

“So,” Dante says, as Nero chews on his sausage-covered pizza, trying very hard not to think about Dante’s bad sense of humor. “How’s it been with you?”

Nero can hardly believe that Dante is prioritizing conversation with him over pizza, and thus elects to answer, swallowing hastily.

“I broke up with Kyrie.”

Nero’s words are unexpected, it seems, because Dante nearly drops his beverage in surprise, staring at Nero with an utterly floored expression, that Nero can’t help but laugh at. It’s oddly refreshing to see Dante in shock like this--usually, the other man is unflappable in his calm, always laughing off anything remotely out of the ordinary and standing his ground in the face of pretty much everything.

“Did you? When was this?” 

If Nero didn’t know better, he’d think that Dante’s tone is a bit...excited? It isn’t at all obvious, but Nero can tell the difference between Dante’s genuinely-interested-in-something voice and Dante’s normal I’m-an-asshole voice. Though, he thinks that he hears a lot more of the former.

“Uh, literally just before you called me. We talked about stuff. Turns out Lady and Trish were right, no surprise there. And then we ended things.”

“Well, damn kid,” Dante lets out a low whistle, picking up his own slice of pizza with a bit more enthusiasm. “Should have told me earlier. Would have taken you to an ice cream parlor or something, better for making you feel good and all that.”

Dante studies his face, his ice blue eyes darkening with concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m...fine, I think. I feel like I’m not as sad as I should be, if that makes any sense,” Nero admits. 

He has no idea what it is about Dante that makes him want to be so honest about the feelings he normally hides from everybody. He’s had most of his life, actually, to practice clamming up and shutting off his emotions, but Dante makes it so ridiculously easy to fall into confiding in him.

“Like, we were together for a long time, so it’s a bit sad putting an end to such a long-lasting and nice thing in my life, but...it doesn’t... _ hurt _ or anything. Kyrie and I are still friends.”

“Huh. Okay. Well, you sure don’t seem too crushed about it, so that’s good. Kind of a shocker you’d come to hang out with me after all that.”

“Well,” Nero says, maybe a little too deep into this pattern of honesty he’s fallen into. “You asked. Kinda hard to say no to that.”

He’s actually succeeded in silencing Dante, something Nero would have previously considered impossible, and he pats himself on the back for this small, private victory. The score’s been evened out, then.

He doesn’t really have anything else left to say either, more focused on finishing the rest of his pizza, and a comfortable silence stretches between them. Nero knows he’s usually not good at handling these things, normally looking for some kind of motion or sound to fill up the gap, but silence with Dante is just...nice. 

Like it’s enough just to know that the other man is there.

They stay like that up until they finish their pizza and leave, the door closing behind them with the faint chime of bells tapping against glass.

Nero almost jumps when he feels the hand on his head, eyes flickering upwards to meet Dante’s. The older man is looking at him with a familiar expression that he can’t quite name, but has definitely seen before, maybe on the face of someone else.

“Thanks, Nero.”

“What? You’re the one who paid,” Nero reminds him, averting his gaze, grateful that the dim lighting of the parking lot hides the color in his cheeks.

“You didn’t have to keep me company. And it’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t leave a sad old man like you all alone. And I don’t mind losing sleep because of you.”

The cool night wind sweeps between them, and, despite the fact that it’s still early in the summer, Nero shivers. In his defense, he’s always gotten cold easily. It’s a trait he’d developed early on in his childhood and never quite grew out of, which was why he usually preferred to bundle himself up in hoodies.

A second later, the gentle pressure against his head disappears and a soft, warm weight drapes around his shoulders instead. Nero smells smoke and spice before he actually sees the red fabric of Dante’s coat around him and he curls the fingers of his right hand into it, rubbing the soft cloth.

Like this, it’s almost embarrassingly obvious to see the difference in their builds, with Dante being quite a bit broader and taller than him,  and the coat is more like a blanket than anything.

“What about you?” Nero questions, nodding his head towards Dante’s very exposed arms. “Won’t you get cold like that?”

“Me? Nah. I’m always  _ hot _ .”

Nero rolls his eyes, but he has to physically cover his mouth with his hand to hide his smile, the too long sleeves of Dante’s coat slipping over his hands. It’s stupid. Dante is stupid. But he feels so impossibly warm and light inside that he can’t stop it from showing up on his face.

He chooses to focus on examining his newly acquired article of clothing instead, finding a large tear in the bottom right side of the jacket, a jagged, rough set of lacerations similar to claw marks.

“You just walk around wearing this?” Nero asks, raising an eyebrow at Dante. “You aren’t exactly helping your ‘hobo’ image, you know.”

“My what?” 

Dante almost looks offended, rubbing at the stubble on his chin with a rough hand.

“Never mind. You should fix up your shit.”

“That’s a later problem. It’s still wearable, so no point in bothering.”

Nero is very familiar with this level of dysfunctional that Dante perpetually operates on, and decides that Dante’s coat is Dante’s problem, even if the coat did happen to come with the added benefits of being warm and soft and more than capable of lulling Nero to sleep, were he not standing up.

“You look tired--I should probably get you back home.”

Nero only yawns in response, rubbing at his stinging eyes with the sleeve of Dante’s coat, getting a funny look from Dante in return. It’s more like a stare, actually, and Nero frowns at him.

“What? Am I abusing your precious coat or something?”

Dante shakes himself out of his apparent reverie, putting a hand on Nero’s back and herding him back towards the motorcycle.

“You can do whatever you want to that coat, kid. Except, you know. The obvious.”

“It’s not obvious to me,” Nero murmurs sleepily against Dante’s back as he settles onto the motorcycle again. The normally awake, sane part of him protests wildly against falling asleep on Dante while Dante drives at somewhere in the upwards range of about ninety miles per hour, but the irrational and probably highly deluded part of him feels too warm and safe to listen.

Dante’s scent is so much stronger now, maybe because there’s only one layer of cloth between Nero’s face and Dante back now, or maybe because of the coat around him, but his senses are easily tugging at his tired brain, urging him to fall asleep.

He compromises with a state of semi-unconsciousness that results in him zoning out for most of the ride back, and really only comes back to awareness once he and Dante are standing outside of his apartment door and Dante is practically holding him upright, shaking him gently.

“Don’t make me carry you up to your bedroom. Pretty sure we’d give your lady friends quite a surprise if I came in like that,” Dante chuckles, and Nero forces himself back to full wakefulness, blinking away the dregs of sleep that threaten to overtake him.

“Probably. Nico would never let me hear the end of it. Thanks for the pizza. And..” Nero motions to the coat still around him with an arm.

“Don’t mention it.”

Dante’s hand hovers at his back for a moment, as if reluctant to pull away, and Nero thinks he might want to do something fantastically stupid, like ask Dante to stay.

He might actually, if he were a little more tired or a little more out of his own mind, but Nero has just enough self-awareness left to restrain himself. There’s still a gap, he feels, between where he and Dante are now and where they maybe could be. Where Nero, somewhere in the deepest parts of his heart, is slowly realizing he wants to be.

“Well, the great lesbian siege should be over by now,” Dante says lightly, slowly retracting his hand. “You, uh...you still cold, kid? Or…”

Nero instinctively draws the coat more tightly around himself. It’s stupid, but he wants to keep it, for some reason. He holds up the torn end of the cloth, looking up at Dante. “It’s messed up, probably because you don’t take care of it. So I’ll fix it and bring it back to you later. Or you can drop by for it. Either one.”

He hopes Dante takes up the offer, that he has an excuse to meet up with him again, and maybe Dante feels the same way, because he gives Nero a long, soft look before straightening up with a smile.

“Sure. Saves me the trouble of finding a way to fix it myself.”

The other man hesitates before he turns to leave, seeming to struggle with himself about something, then reaches forward, gently touching Nero’s forehead, callused fingers brushing against his skin in a barely there motion. Nero can feel the restraint in Dante’s movements as his touch lingers there for longer than is necessary, unusual for such a bold person.

Nero finds himself looking up at Dante, studying the close features of his kind face, wanting to keep the sight locked away somewhere close to his heart.

He can feel Dante’s fingers tense against his skin, like he wants to pull the two of them closer, but after a pause, he only drops his hand back down to his side, the expression on his face unreadable in its emotional depth. Nero wants to chase after it, to figure out what it means, but it’s late and he’s tired and Dante has already promised him many more future opportunities to find out. 

He hears Dante exhale slowly, his fingers curling at his sides, and there's a lot more that the both of them could say, but instead, Nero stays silent.

“Take care, Nero.”

Dante’s voice is soft, wistful, fonder than he’s ever heard it, and Nero nods in response, twisting his hands in Dante’s soft coat. He likes the way that Dante says his name, and is torn between wanting to hear it again and keeping it saved for the rare, quiet moments that makes its use so special.

Then the man steps away, whistling softly to himself as he disappears into the night. Nero watches him leave long after the shape of Dante and his motorcycle have moved out of his range of vision, standing at his own doorstep with an overly-large red coat around his body and a soft, subdued smile still on his face.

 

* * *

It’s some days later, when Nero is in the middle of repairing Dante’s jacket, that Nico collapses onto the couch next to him, slinging her legs over his lap in the way that the women in his life seemed to be so fond of doing. At least she was fully clothed.

“Uh. You need something?” Nero asks, side-eyeing her carefully. He assumes that she hasn’t come for the sole purpose of annoying him, after all, not when Nero is currently holding a very sharp and pointy needle in his hands.

“Is that  _ Dante’s  _ coat?” 

Nero flushes, and instinctively pulls it more closely to his chest, mind scrambling for some sort of reasonable defense or explanation other than the probably very creepy truth of “it smelled good and I wanted to keep it.”

“I owe him for buying me pizza, and I wasn’t about to give Dante a bunch of cash when he’d probably blow it all on useless shit, anyway.”

Nico does not look convinced in the slightest, which is probably Nero’s own fault, for giving Kyrie and Nico and even V extra money whenever they asked. Maybe he should start being a bit more miserly, but it’s a little too hard for him to deny them anything.

“If that’s what you wanna tell yourself, fine,” Nico shrugs, but he can’t help but notice the wicked glint in her eyes behind her glasses and feels very much as if this incident will return to haunt him in the near future. “I ain’t here for that, anyway.”

“So...what? You break something again? Got another arm I need to test out? Wanna add more monster parts to the grocery list?”

“Yes, to all three,” Nico answers, much to Nero’s chagrin. “But there’s something else, too.”

Nero waits patiently, putting a few more stitches into the tear in Dante’s coat, as Nico clears her throat several times and fidgets awkwardly, her legs brushing against his lap. It definitely isn’t like Nico to dance around a topic like this, so either she’s come to tell him that he’s about to die painfully and horribly from a terminal illness, or...he can’t really think of another option, actually.

“Look, I know I give you a lotta shit. But only ‘cause I know you can handle it.”

Now  _ this  _ is weird--Where is this coming from? Assuming that the following conversation will likely require his full attention, Nero carefully folds Dante’s coat up and drops it on the table across from the couch, twisting around to actually look at Nico, who is picking at the dirt underneath her nails.

“Uh...yeah. You trying to apologize for it or something?” Nero pretends to check outside the window in exaggerated surprise. “Can’t believe it--the world must be coming to an end.”

“Har, har. You wish, Pretty Boy. The point is...I think I’m about to screw you over pretty bad, Nero.”

There’s guilt, but not regret in her tone, and Nero’s brain, which has slowly become better at realizing these sorts of things over the past two weeks he’s had, puts the pieces together. Good thing he’s had so much practice at being able to identify when the people in his life are evidently having internal lesbian crises. 

“This is about you and Kyrie, isn’t it?”

Nico is so surprised that she actually shoots up into a sitting position, her bare feet accidentally kicking against Nero’s thigh as she retracts her legs, looking at him in shock.

“What?” Nero protests, wondering whether or not he should be insulted by her reaction. Sure, he’ll admit that compared to geniuses like Nico and book-smart girls like Kyrie, he isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’s not  _ that  _ dense.

Nero helpfully ignores the part of his brain that reminds him that, if not for Lady and Trish and Kyrie literally telling him to his face that Kyrie and Nico were in love, he would probably never have known.

“Nothin’, I just- _ -you noticed?  _ Is  _ that  _ why you broke up with Kyrie?” 

Nero blinks, finding himself suddenly faced with an awkward dilemma. On one hand, it sure does sound like Nico is about to ask Kyrie to be her girlfriend, so logically, if Nico’s looking for some form of reassurance, it’d be best to tell her the honest truth about why he and Kyrie ended things. 

On the other, Nero still doesn’t know how much Kyrie has told Nico, or how much she wants Nico to know. While Nero doesn’t doubt the depth of Kyrie’s love, he can’t help but think about how uncertain of herself she’d felt, still struggling against 19 years of teachings that all told her her love was wrong. Besides, he’s been keeping Kyrie’s secrets since they were kids, and he isn’t about to spill them now.

“Uh. Let’s say that I ended things due to a realization on my part,” Nero says carefully.

“A realization on your part? What in the hell does that--?  _ Oh.” _

He sees Nico’s eyes flicker between him and the folded red coat on the table, her eyes widening, like she’s been doing mental math in her head and has just now come to the answer.

“Well,  _ damn _ . I mean...I guess I always suspected, but...Dante?”

“You always  _ what?” _ Nero asks, before realizing exactly how his sentence must have sounded. “Wait, wait, wait,  _ no! _ Nonono!” 

Nico’s grin is already  _ way  _ too evil for his liking and he feels the heat in his face burning against his cheeks as he nudges Dante’s coat almost off of the table with his foot, but can’t quite bring himself to kick it all the way off onto the floor. 

“It’s not--I wouldn’t--I’m not--I wouldn’t pick  _ Dante!” _

“Oh, I’m real sure, honey,” Nico drawls, and Nero rubs his hand over his face, unable to hide the furious blush on his cheeks. “I don’t blame you--Dante’s a  _ real man _ , after all.”

He glares at her, trying very hard to disrupt the slew of mental images that manifest themselves at her words and make the room seem uncomfortably hot, all of the sudden. Nico is quite right--Dante  _ is  _ a real man, and it’s fairly hard not to notice it.

“That’s seriously  _ not  _ what I meant! I just...want to keep things between me and Kyrie private, is all. Anyway, I thought the point was  _ your  _ love life!”

That manages to shut Nico up, at least, and she coughs lightly, reigning in her expression of diabolical glee into a more serious one. 

“Well, yeah, but...you know, right? That I like Kyrie. I wanna ask her out, for real. She’s just...somethin’ special, you know?”

“Yeah. I know,” Nero answers softly. 

Even if Kyrie wasn’t exactly right for him, she’s still one of the best friends he’s ever had, and was pretty much part of his only family growing up. He feels oddly like he’s giving Kyrie away on her wedding day or some sentimental crap like that, and if Nico’s the person he’s giving her up to, he thinks he can live with that.

“So…” Nico looks up at him, almost shy in the uncertainty of her gesture, and Nero forces himself to swallow down his surprise. “You really ain’t mad that I’m stealin’ your girl? I know this is somethin’ I’d joke about, but...seems like a pretty shitty thing to do to the guy payin’ your rent, you know?”

“I’m not mad, Nico. I think you two are good together, anyway. Maybe she can calm you down a bit. She’s already done a lot of good for you, as far as I can tell. And...as long as you two are happy, it’s all good, I guess.”

“You got a soft heart, Nero. Wouldn’t hurt to toughen it up, but I guess you wouldn’t be you without it, huh?”

Nero groans, laying his head back against the couch.

“Why does  _ everyone  _ always say that?”

“ ‘Cause it’s true! Dante better take care of it, and if he don’t, you come straight to me, alright?”

_ “I’m not dating Dante!” _

“Sure, sure, if you say so. I’ll just let you get back to cuddling with his coat--maybe you’ll be less grumpy if you take a lil’ catnap with it!” 

Nero picks up one of the pillows on the couch and throws it at her, taking a vague sort of satisfaction at her muffled noise of surprise.

“Anyway, don’t you have something better to do?” he demands, nodding towards Kyrie’s closed bedroom door, where he assumes the other is still asleep.

Nico’s expression turns softer, more thoughtful, and she laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. 

“Yeah. I sure do. Good luck with your sewing project, Pretty Boy!”

Nero watches Nico go with an odd mixture of emotions, most of them happy, but he can’t help but feel like things are definitely going to change, from this point on. That the dynamic of all of their relationships will be shifted in a way that Nero can’t quite predict yet, and it’s a little unnerving, if he’s honest with himself.

Slowly, he reaches forward, taking Dante’s coat back into his hands. Then, with a quick glance around to make sure absolutely no one is watching, that all the windows are firmly shut and the curtains are drawn, Nero shyly presses his face into it, taking comfort in the scent that surrounds him.

Maybe Nico’s right--he  _ should  _ take a nap with it.

It’s big enough to use a blanket, anyway, and what Dante doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Probably.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it Finally Happens

Nero is not having the best of mornings. 

He blames it on V this time, really. Despite his repeated warnings not to feed Griffon bread, V apparently couldn’t resist pampering his own familiar, his usual level headed amount of common sense having all but flown out the window when it came to his shadowy companions.

Thus, they’d all paid the dire price for V’s actions when, at approximately midnight, Griffon, fueled by three times the amount of gluten and carbohydrates needed for a bird his size, attempted to dive headfirst into a tangle of Nico’s stripped wires. The true disaster, unfortunately, stemmed from Griffon’s subsequent, instinctual release of electricity in his alarm, which resulted in all of them discovering that said wires connected directly to the overall generator of the apartment.

By the time he’d sorted out the mess, Nero was fairly certain that he’d left clear instructions that, under absolutely no circumstances, save for actual death, was he to be roused from his exhaustion coma.

It works, partially--he’s left in his blissful state of ignorant sleep for a good two hours, until an abrupt, firm pounding at their front door rattles the thin walls of the apartment, heralding the arrival of one very unlucky stranger at the door.

While Nero would normally get up to answer it himself, the events of the previous night have left him too drained to even get out of his own bed. Besides, he can hear the sounds of the others in the kitchen, and he assumes that, barring an actual emergency in which a devil is standing outside their door, Nero doesn’t need to interfere. 

Nero buries his face into his pillow, wrapping Dante’s coat more tightly around him. It’s lost most of Dante’s scent over the days that it’s been with him, and at this point, it really just smells like all of the rest of Nero’s clothes, but it’s still a comforting presence around him. He drifts off into a half-sleep of sorts, partially listening as the sound of Nico getting up from the table to open the door echoes through the thin walls of the apartment. 

“Oh, Dante! Hey!” Nico exclaims cheerfully, and Nero sleepily thinks that it’s nice that she seems to have gotten over her initial shyness regarding the other man.

Wait. 

Dante. 

Dante and Nico,  _ in the same room together. _

Nero doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster in his life, including the time he’d ascended the entirety of the Qliphoth in order to come in between Vergil and Dante to stop them from killing each other.

He explodes into the kitchen in a flurry of movement before Nico or the others can potentially say or do anything disastrous, coming face to face--or rather, face to upper chest--with Dante.

“Uh. Wow, Nero,” Kyrie says, after a long pause, just as Nico whistles lowly, and Nero realizes, a little belatedly, that he’s dressed in nothing more than his pajama shirt and his boxers. And Dante’s coat.

“Rise and shine, superstar!” V’s familiar squawks, as if he isn’t the current embodiment of Nero’s misery and loathing and Nero decides he’s making fried chicken for dinner. “You sure got out of bed in a hurry.”

“Good to see you been takin’ my advice!” 

“Shut up,” Nero grumbles, staring pointedly at the floor, his cheeks a miserable pink. “I...I got cold, okay? You and Kyrie stole all the blankets--which makes no sense, actually. If you’re sharing the same bed, shouldn’t you need  _ half  _ as many blankets?”

“Well, clearly you already got a blanket of your own!” Nico gloats, far too smugly, pushing her glasses up with a hand. 

Nero can’t really think of anything to say that will make the fact that he literally burst out of his own bedroom wearing Dante’s coat any less incriminating, so he chooses to stay silent, turning his attention to the real problem at hand.

Reluctantly, he peeks up at Dante, expecting some sort of snarky comment or jibe about Nero’s state of dress—or lack thereof, but perhaps he’s more shocked by Nero’s sudden entrance than any of the others. He’s standing a little too still, saying nothing and staring at Nero with an unusual intensity, his gaze dropping a little too slowly from Nero’s sleep-tousled hair down to his bare feet. Nero flushes, barely repressing the urge to pull the coat closed underneath Dante’s gaze, figuring the gesture would probably make things even worse than they already were.

“Uh. What are you doing here, Dante? I didn’t think you were capable of waking up before noon.”

“...Huh?” Dante blinks, looking somewhat dazed, and Nero feels a stab of concern, despite himself. The other man seems very... _ distracted _ by something. Nero hopes that his tendency to receive head injuries hasn’t infected Dante as well.

“Is this about your coat?” Nero continues, looking around before hesitantly shrugging it off.

He has to remind himself that it smells almost completely like himself now, that it isn’t a huge loss, but he’s still reluctant to part with it, somehow.

“I, uh...I fixed it,” he says, lamely holding the article of clothing out to Dante without actually looking him in the eye. Unfortunately, this maneuver results in him accidentally shoving his hand against Dante’s chest, his curled fingers pressed against hard muscle, an electric tingle shooting straight up to his brain.

Dante pauses for a moment before his hand comes up and practically covers Nero’s as Dante winds his fingers through the fabric, but doesn’t take the coat back just yet.

“Looks...um, looks good. Thanks, kid,” Dante swallows harshly before he speaks, like his throat is dry, and when Nero dares to look up at him, he finds that Dante’s eyes are fixed rigidly on their hands, which would be touching if not for the single layer of coat between them.

“No...problem.”

He hears Kyrie giggle faintly in the background and turns to shoot her a look of betrayal, but Kyrie is giving him such an encouraging, kind smile that he can’t bring himself to glare at her. Instead, he happily directs it onto Nico, who lets out a low whistle between her teeth. Neither she or V are making even the slightest attempt to hide their unabashed staring.

Dante slowly tugs his hand and the coat away, pulling it on with traditional Dante flair, but the moment he’s properly wearing it, he seems to pause, looking down at the inside of the coat and examining something that Nero can’t see.

“What? Something wrong?”

“No. It just…” 

He trails off, finishing his sentence with an awkward clearing of his throat. Nero waits for him to continue, but Dante doesn’t seem to have any intention of doing so.

“Well, uh...you want breakfast? Or like, a glass of water?”

“Yeah, Dante, you sure do seem  _ thirsty _ ,” Nico chimes in from the background.

“Why do you think I’m offering him water, dumbass?” Nero demands, rounding on Nico. Her evil smirk drops for a fraction of a second, before her eyes widen, and she doubles over with a loud cackle, slapping her knee.

Too much sugared cereal, probably. Whatever. He’s never understood Nico before, and he’s not about to now.

“Sorry about her,” Nero apologizes, if only because of the bemused expression on Dante’s face.

“Kid, you...ah, never mind.”

“What?” Nero has to speak a bit more forcefully this time, in order to raise his voice over the sound of Nico’s increasingly hysterical laughter. “Okay, you know what--Nico is incapable of shutting up, so let’s uh...talk  _ without  _ the peanut gallery.”

On impulse, he pushes Dante towards his room, ignoring Nico’s shout of “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”, and meets surprisingly little resistance from the other man as he herds him inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

“Ugh,” Nero grumbles, collapsing back onto his bed, running a hand down his face. “I live with crazy people. If I go insane, you’d better take care of me.”

He feels the end of the bed sink downwards as Dante sits somewhere to his right.

“Yeah. I will,” Dante answers, his voice unusually serious. 

Nero exhales slowly, lowering his fingers to stare up at Dante. A soft light trickles in from outside through the cracks in the blinds over the window, casting Dante in a gentle sort of glow. The other isn’t looking at him, examining the sleeve of his newly repaired coat with too much focus to be casual.

“Hey, Dante?” 

Ice blue eyes flick over to him, wandering down from his face to the rest of his body before Dante swallows in that hard, forced way again, and his gaze jumps back up to meet Nero’s again, staying firmly there.

“Did you actually come here just for your coat?” He forces himself to say, trying not to sound too hopeful about Dante’s response. He tugs idly at the hem of his shirt to keep himself occupied, pulling the fabric down where it rides up around his waist.

Dante chuckles, the mattress shifting again as Dante readjusts himself so that he’s facing Nero properly, looking down at him in a way that makes Nero feel like he should be self-conscious, but isn’t.

“Not quite. Got a job to do and all that, and this was on the way. Just thought I’d stop by here, first. I promised to drop by and all that.”

Nero hums, unsure if he’s satisfied with the answer or not.

“Am I holding you up, then?”

Dante reaches out, ruffling his hair with a gentle hand, and Nero flushes but leans into his touch. “Nah. I can always make time for you, kid.”

The other’s hand lingers in his hair for a bit too long, as long as it takes for Nero to work up the courage to ask his next question. He’s going out on a limb here, treading on extremely unstable ground, and he isn’t quite sure how it’ll work out.

“Dante. What is…” Nero gestures aimlessly at the both of them. “What is this? Between us, I mean.”

Dante shifts, a frown crossing his face, a slightly guarded shadow falling over his expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like...we didn’t used to...hang out like this before, right? After you left Fortuna and everything. Sure, you sent me the Devil May Cry sign and all that, but...getting midnight pizza is kind of different, you know?” He’s rambling at this point, avoiding Dante’s eyes, but it seemed like a good idea to voice his doubts half a minute ago, and he couldn’t exactly take them back. “So, like...what are we doing?”

“Nero, I--” 

Dante presses his lips together, looking down at him, and whatever he finds there has him pulling away, the layers of careful restraint falling slowly into place again.

“I want...to spend time with you, is all. Things have changed over the years, and I’ve had a lot of realizations about myself, to say in the least. Figured I should...keep the people in my life a bit closer to me, after all that Urizen business.”

It makes sense, Nero supposes. Fighting against Urizen and then later, his own brother, was probably the closest Dante’s come to losing in a long, long time. Near death experiences and family reunions could have a pretty big impact on someone’s brain, even if that someone was as thick-skulled as Dante was.

“Okay. I can live with that. I guess. You, uh...you don’t mind that I wore your coat?”  _ To sleep _ , Nero silently adds, but can’t bring himself to actually look Dante in the eye and say that part out loud yet.

Dante’s face breaks into a sly smirk, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. “Coats are meant to be worn. But...curling up with it in bed? Didn’t know you missed me that much, kid.”

“I  _ don’t!” _

Nero jerks the pillow out from underneath his head and covers his blushing face with it, digging in his nails. Maybe if he suffocated himself quickly enough, he’d die a far less painful death than this.

“Still, if you wanted to sleep with me that badly…”

Nero tosses the pillow into Dante’s face, putting an abrupt end to the man’s sentence.

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point,” Dante chuckles, keeping Nero’s pillow in his hands. “But, no, I don’t mind. You, uh...it’s not a bad fit. In fact, you’re pretty...ah, don’t worry about it. Probably just means I have great fashion sense, huh?”

“You keep telling yourself that, old man.”

Dante’s laugh is clear and honest and feels like the sunshine filtering in through his blinds, and Nero wants to memorize the sound, to save for himself until he gets to hear it again.

“I sure will, kid.”

He sighs, cracking the muscles in his neck with a soft groan.

“I’d better get going. It was good to see you, though.”

“Wait, Dante.” He impulsively sits up and reaches out, wrapping his right hand around Dante’s wrist, providing just enough resistance to stop the older man in his tracks. The other looks back at him, expectant, and Nero hastily drops his gaze back down to the bed.

“Don’t...do stupid shit, okay?”

“Who, me? Never. Good to know you care, though.”’

Nero doesn’t bother to defend himself, this time, curling his fingers into the sleeve of Dante’s jacket. “Look, if...something happens to you, you’d better come back here, okay? Don’t go and literally drop off the face of the Earth again.”

He almost jumps when he feels Dante’s cool fingers against his face, gently tilting his head up and forcing their gazes to meet, maybe so Nero can see the honesty in Dante’s expression. Dante leans in, just a hair closer, and Nero feels his heart stutter in his chest, like something is going to happen--or should be happening, right now.

“I’m a man of my word, Nero. Trust me.”

Dante’s stare is too intense against his skin and Nero swallows, suddenly too self-aware of how unkempt he looks right now, with his hair stuck up in every direction and his nightclothes still rumpled from sleep. Whatever Dante is looking at, it’s not a pretty sight.

Dante’s gaze dips down to the curve of Nero’s neck, and Nero sees his eyes cloud over before he reaches downward, fingers hooking underneath the collar of Nero’s nightshirt and adjusting it carefully with unusual tenderness.

Nero isn’t sure what he wants to do in that moment, whether he wants to pull Dante closer or push him away, and ends up sitting very still in his indecision, looking at Dante with wide eyes.

“Sorry. Just had to fix your shirt,” Dante clears his throat, straightening up and pulling away. He gives Nero a lopsided half-smile. “You should fix up your shit, kid.”

It’s an out for the both of them--the moment breaks, and they go back to being two normal, separate people, with a normal relationship with each other and not whatever this thing between them is slowly becoming.

“Like you’re one to talk. Anyways, hurry up and get out. I’m going back to bed,” Nero rubs at his stinging eyes, barely suppressing a yawn as he flops onto his back again, shutting his eyes.

“How come you’re always half asleep when I show up? I’m not that boring, am I?” Dante chuckles and Nero would glare at him if his eyes weren’t closed and he could be bothered to open them.

“Because you’re always showing up at weird times, damn it.” The edges of his consciousness are hazy, blurring together into soft darkness. “Work harder on your timing.”

“Whatever you say, kid.”

Nero doesn’t reply, too focused on regaining his precious lost minutes of sleep, but before he drifts off fully, he can hear Dante moving around the room, the sound of him drawing the blinds shut and unfolding fabric before his own blankets drape over him.

There’s a long pause, in which the room is so silent Nero isn’t sure if Dante is still there or not.

Then, in a touch so soft he’s absolutely certain he wasn’t meant to be awake for it, he feels a large hand cup his cheek, and Dante’s lips brush against his forehead in a not-quite kiss, day-old stubble tickling against Nero’s skin.

His stomach uncoils itself, something warm pooling in the bottom of his stomach, and it’s a monumental effort to keep himself still and his eyes closed. Nero’s heart beats so fast he thinks he can hear it, and Dante is pressed so closely to him he’s surprised that the other can’t pick up on it, too.

“...Ah, shit,” Dante breathes in a low whisper, like he’s just realized what he’s done, pulling his hand away in a swift motion, as if he’s been burned. There’s something like regret and  _ guilt  _ in his voice, things that certainly don’t fit well with Dante.

Nero hears the sound of footsteps coming near then backing away again, as if Dante is pacing back and forth.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Dante hisses again, this time a little louder, a little angrier at himself, but still careful not to wake Nero up. “What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with me?”

He’s distantly aware that Dante has just changed everything about their relationship in that one move, whether he meant to or not, and Nero wonders if, when he next sees Dante, he’s supposed to keep going as if he truly had been asleep for that kiss, like he still didn’t know anything.

Dante sighs out, very quietly, before letting out a dry, sad sounding chuckle to himself. The door quietly opens, and Nero thinks he can feel the moment that Dante steps out, because the whole room feels like it gets colder and emptier and, all at once, he doesn’t want the other man to leave. But the door clicks shut behind him anyway, and Dante’s heavy footsteps get further and further away.

Even when he’s truly alone in the room, Nero keeps his eyes shut, a part of him afraid that this is some sort of dream conjured up by his half-awareness, and that it’ll disappear if he wakes up fully. Whatever it is, he wants to hold onto it, for as long as he can. 

When he does drift off, tendrils of sleep pulling him underneath, his dreams are smoke and spice, and almost real enough to touch.

But not quite.

* * *

 

 

It turns out that Nero’s internal conflict is in vain, that he doesn’t have to choose between feigning ignorance and confronting Dante because the man seems to have all but mysteriously vanished.

Dante doesn’t call him, doesn’t show up at his door, doesn’t drop by for any poorly-veiled excuses to see him. When Nero, fed up with the lack of response, had taken it upon himself to call the Devil May Cry shop, it had been Trish who’d answered.

“Uh...is Dante there?” he’d asked, almost absolutely sure he could hear the noises of Dante’s whining in the background.

Trish had given him a very long-suffering sigh that Nero implicitly understood wasn’t directed at him. From the other end, he’d heard the sound of muffled arguing, like she’d covered the receiver, but not enough to mask the hissed  _ “Tell him I’m not here!”  _ before Trish was back on the line.

“Sadly, no. He’s too busy letting his balls fall off _.  _ Sorry, Nero.”

From that little interaction, it was painfully easy for Nero to come to a conclusion: Dante is, for whatever reason, avoiding him.

Nero wouldn’t exactly consider himself the clingy type. Sure, it was a bit annoying if someone went radio silent on him for a couple of weeks, but as long as they weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere or actively pissed at Nero, he didn’t really consider it a big deal. Maybe they just needed some space.

But when it was  _ Dante _ , it was a bit of a different story, unfortunately.

Nico watches him from the couch, greatly exasperated and amused at his expense, as Nero paces back and forth, obvious frustration written across his face.

“Hey, Pretty Boy? I know you don’t got much more than your delicate face going for you, but, uh...if you’re so hung up over Dante, just go to his shop and see him,” Nico suggests, and Nero gives her a sharp look, appalled at her statement.

“I can’t do that!” he hisses, running a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face.

She raises an eyebrow, picking the dirt and machine grease out of her nails. “Uh, what’s stoppin’ you?”

He opens and closes his mouth several times, attempting to come up with an actual answer, before he turns away, his face flushed pink. “I just can’t, okay? That’s not how it works!”

“Right, I forgot. The girl always waits for the man to call first, huh?”

Nero ignores the obvious jab at him, moving Nico’s feet out of the way to sit on the couch, staring miserably up at the ceiling.

“So, you just gonna sit here and mope all night?” Nico asks, which Nero doesn’t bother to dignify with a response, even if that had pretty much been his actual plan. Clearly, she realizes this, because she doesn’t wait for his response before continuing,” Well, that sure is a shame. Kyrie and I were plannin’ on having some private time, if ya know what I mean.”

Nero glares at her, slowly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

While he is, in all honesty, not at all opposed to letting Nico and Kyrie have their night alone in the apartment, the timing on this one is a little  _ too  _ convenient to be anything more than an excuse to kick Nero out so that he has no choice but to go see Dante.

“I sure would! Now,  _ I  _ don’t care if you wanna entertain your sick lil’ fantasies and get one off to the sound of us next door, but Kyrie sure as hell ain’t gonna put up with that.”

Nero makes a face, shoving away the extremely unwelcome mental images that Nico’s words have conjured up, but doesn’t move, hoping that if he’s stubborn enough, he can out-stubborn Nico. It’s not very likely, but considering what’s at stake, it’s worth a shot.

“Well, okay,” Nico grins, blowing a curl out of her face. “Good thing you’re the one who does the laundry, ‘cause,  _ damn  _ does it make a mess when my fingers go up--”

_ “Nico, I do not want to hear this! _ ” Nero isn’t ashamed to admit that his voice is about ten octaves higher than usual as he practically launches himself over the couch in his haste to get to the door. 

Nico leans back, clearly equal parts relieved and victorious. “By God, who knew? Ain’t nothin’ in the world scarier to the great Devil Hunter Nero than a pair of breasts.  _ Two  _ pairs of them actually!”

“Would you just shut up?”

He’s blushing now, he knows--Nico’s definitely got the upper hand in this one. He fairly leaps into his jacket, looking down at his zipper instead of anywhere near Nico’s vicinity, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Nico is indeed correct--he  _ is  _ the one in charge of doing laundry.

He pauses before he steps completely out the door, though, his long-standing protectiveness over Kyrie overtaking his embarrassment.

“Just, uh...I know I probably don’t need to ask you about this, but...you better make sure Kyrie is totally comfortable with this before you try anything, yeah?”

Nico meets his gaze steadily, “Yeah, I know. Just this one time, I’m givin’ you permission to kick my ass if I mess this up, you hear?”

He smiles, despite himself, looking down and fiddling with his zipper. 

“Sure, Nico. Good luck.”

As he walks to the shop, hoping that Dante is actually home and not just on an extremely extended job or something, he tries to remember that he is angry at Dante for avoiding him. Very, very angry--he won’t forgive the other man, even if he gives him that stupid look with his blue eyes and makes some stupid cheesy joke and plays with Nero’s hair with his unfairly large hands.

Not even a bit.

Trying to keep this mentality firmly in place, Nero knocks at the door, shifting his weight awkwardly and sticking his hands in his pockets.

There’s a thump on the other end of the door, followed by muffled cursing and shuffling as what is presumably Dante makes his way to the door.

“...Nero?”

Dante has clearly just woken up from a mid-evening nap, not even dressed in his trademark red coat. He runs his fingers through his messier than normal hair and squints against the light of his own porch before his gaze focuses on Nero, who is suddenly feeling a lot less confident about his decision to intrude on Dante’s personal space. He’s never been the one to initiate their little meetups before, after all.

“Uh. Hey,” Nero starts, then realizes that he really has no idea how to continue now that he’s come down to it, standing right at Dante’s doorstep. 

Dante blinks at him, like he can’t quite believe that Nero is actually standing in front of him.

“What are you doing here?”  

He doesn’t expect the coolness in Dante’s tone to hurt, but it does, making tiny pinprick stings in his chest. Dante’s never spoken to him like this before, even when he’d been pushing Nero out of the way and calling him dead weight. 

“Nico and Kyrie are...hanging out together,” Nero seizes on the excuse that was helpfully provided to him, trying to keep his tone casual.

Dante chuckles, albeit a little humorlessly, none of his usual energy in his actions. 

“So you got kicked out, huh? It happens. Luckily my own pair of crazy ladies aren’t here right now, either. Who knows? Maybe they’re all having one big--”

“ _ Dante _ ,” Nero interrupts, his cheeks flushing a dark red at the insinuation, deciding to change the topic before the words from Dante’s mouth can take a turn for the worse. “Can I come in?”

Dante chews at his lip, looking up for a long moment before he wordlessly steps aside, kicking the door wide open for Nero.

The state of the shop is as dismal as ever, with a new pizza box strewn across the table and empty beer bottles littering the floor around the legs of the table. Clearly, neither Lady or Trish have been here for about a day or so, and the disaster that Dante is has been allowed to roam free, unchecked. 

Nero himself is admittedly bothered by the mess, and bends down, plucking the trash off of the floor and setting it on the table, where it at least won’t exist as a tripping hazard. As he gets closer to the couch, he catches a glimpse of a bundle of red--Dante’s leather coat, lain out neatly right over the pillows at the head of the couch.

“The hell is the point of this?” Nero lifts up the end of the leather coat between his fingers experimentally, glancing up at Dante, who looks very caught off-guard, as if Nero has interrupted him in the middle of something private. “It’s your own coat--why not just wear it to sleep?”

Dante is suspiciously silent, offering no explanation for his actions as he plucks the coat out of Nero’s fingers and puts it back on his body, sprawling himself lazily out on one end of the couch and motioning with one hand to the other.

“Make yourself at home, kid. Seems like you’ll be here for a while. I can order pizza.”

“I think you’ve had more than enough of that.”

“Suit yourself.”

Nero delicately moves the pillows out of the way to make room for himself, tucking himself into the opposite corner of the couch, casting a side glance at Dante.

In the dim light of the room, he can see Dante a little more clearly now, and the man looks tired and resigned behind his relaxed pose. His eyes are sad, in a way Nero has never known him to be, and Nero throat tightens. 

He wants Dante to talk to him, to say to his face exactly what’s wrong, because if Nero doesn’t know, Nero can’t fix it.

Unconsciously, his gaze flicks down to Dante’s mouth, feeling the slight tingle against his forward like a brush of wind.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss.

Clearly, it was something Dante wanted to do, maybe for a long time now, but it was also abundantly evident that Nero wasn’t supposed to know about it in the first place. Dante had thought he was asleep, after all. Stupid Dante. Why couldn’t he have waited until Nero was awake for that kind of thing?

Which, of course, begged the question of whether Nero  _ wanted  _ for it to happen again, while he was aware and awake.

There’s a slight pop, then the hissing of pressurized air as Dante cracks open a bottle of beer, downing nearly half of the entire bottle in one go. He’s not looking Nero’s way at all, staring at his own bare feet stretched out onto the end table adjacent to the couch, loosely swirling the liquid in the bottle with a casual hand.

Nero shifts uncomfortably, rubbing at his right arm. There’s a sharp tension between them, something Nero has never felt around the other man before. He’s always appreciated how easy it was to be around Dante, and he doesn’t want that feeling to just...disappear.

“So...what have you been doing all day?”

Dante shrugs.

“Slept. Ate pizza. Drank.  _ Am  _ drinking.” He takes another sip from the bottle of beer, as if to emphasize his point.

The other man still won’t look at him, and it’s starting to irritate Nero. If he isn’t welcome here, Dante might as well just say it--or at least tell Nero what’s wrong.

“Did I...interrupt something?” Nero asks carefully, deciding to poke around for answers.

Dante takes too long to answer, picking invisible specks of dust off of his clothes. “Nah. You’re welcome here anytime, kid.”

His tone sounds far too light for Nero’s taste, clearly forced casualness dripping from every syllable. He curls his fingers into fists against his knees, staring hard at Dante. The gesture is useless, though, with Dante so obviously turned away from him.

Fine. If Dante is going to be this way, then Nero is going to straight to his own point.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, not bothering to keep the accusation out of his tone.

Dante raises an eyebrow.

“What makes you think that? You been feeling lonely? The single life doesn’t suit you?”

There’s a dark twist at the edge of his words, almost bitter.

“It’s not about that. And I think you know it. Don’t change the subject. Before, you were asking me to get pizza with you and coming to my apartment and all that shit. Now you have  _ Trish  _ screen my calls for you?”

“Maybe I just need some time to myself.”

Nero blinks, then looks down, because while that was certainly a possibility that had crossed his mind once or twice in Dante’s week of silence, he hadn’t actually thought or wanted it to be true. So maybe it’s him, after all--maybe Dante has decided that Nero isn’t worth getting close to, is too much of a  _ dead weight. _

“Maybe you  _ sure fucking do _ ,” he hisses, unable to conceal the hurt in his voice.

Dante actually looks at him, then, and sighs out, putting the bottle down on the table, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Sorry. That was shitty of me to say. I didn’t mean it. There’s just…a lot going on right now that you don’t understand, kid.”

“ _ What?” _ Nero feels his eyes spark dangerously, as he reaches out, grabbing Dante’s coat and jerking the other closer to him, forcing the other man to look at him. “ _ That’s _ the card you want to play? The, ‘oh, Nero, you’re too young to get it’ bullshit again? How many times do we have to go over this?”

Dante grabs his wrist, almost tightly enough to hurt, something dark and cautious entering his eyes.

“This is different. It has nothing to do with you, just a personal problem on my part. And...if you know what’s good for you, you won’t push any further.”

Nero, of course, decides to push. 

“Why don’t you let me decide if it has something to do with me or not? You thought it had nothing to do with me when your brother cut off my own arm, so, sorry if I don’t exactly trust your judgment on this one.”

Dante sucks in a long breath, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Stubborn brat,” he mutters, but Nero knows he’s won this round. “Fine, let’s say you’re right. There are things I want to say and do, but I really can’t. I really shouldn’t, at the very least.”

“You’re not exactly the role model of self-control,” Nero retorts, motioning around himself to the pizza and beer and the occasional dirty magazine littering the room. “Wouldn’t really expect you to be the type to hold yourself back from something right in front of you.”

Dante grimaces, his gaze flicking somewhere off to the side, and his grip on Nero’s wrist tightening to the point where Nero doesn’t think Dante even realizes he’s still holding him.

“I know. But I can’t really afford to indulge on this one.”

Nero grinds his teeth together so tightly his head hurts, and he decides, quite spontaneously, that he’s done with the pretending.

“That’s too bad, because it looks like you already did. I know about the kiss,” he snaps, watching the way Dante’s eyes widen, actually caught fully off guard for once. 

However, surprised or not, Dante is still Dante, and he recovers quickly.

“Well, shit. What, you want an award, kid? You figured the dirty old man out. Finally realized what I was doing by hanging around you so often?”

He isn’t expecting the strength of the bitterness in Dante’s voice, at how resentful he sounds at the last part, angry at himself for something Nero doesn’t understand.

“I don’t get it. Why’d you do it if you’re so upset about it? Are saying it was a mistake?”

Dante lets out an unfiltered noise of frustration, sucking in a long breath through his clenched jaw.

“ _ Yes, _ I’m saying that it was a mistake. Nero, this…” Dante gestures between the two of them, at how close the two of them are, at Nero’s hand still curled into the folds of Dante’s clothes. 

“This can’t happen. This  _ shouldn’t  _ happen. You’re still young--I have to be at least twice your age. And you grew up in one of the most sheltered communities in the human world. On top of all that, you literally just got out of a relationship--one that I  _ helped  _ you end because I  _ wanted  _ you out. Because I couldn’t stand to see  _ her  _ with you when I… Everything about this just screams taking advantage of you, don’t you think?”

Nero stares at Dante, his brain screeching to a sudden halt as it tries to process everything Dante has just thrown at him.

“Wh--Is  _ that  _ wh at you think this is? Since when do you care about what people think about you, anyway? You’re...you’re  _ Dante! _ You don’t do that shit!”

“Nero, I care about how people will look at  _ you _ . You deserve someone who will do good by you, who you can actively spend time with without being judged for it. You’ve been alienated enough in your life. If people see someone like you with me…”

Dante is shaking his head again, more to himself than anything, like the way he did when Nero had demanded he explain himself, like the way he’d done in the pizza place, and again at Nero’s house.

Like the way he must have done after he’d kissed Nero’s forehead.

Nero feels something click in the back of his mind, his thoughts coming together in a slow, distant realization. He meets Dante’s gaze carefully, looking up at him through his lashes, leaning into the other so that there’s barely any space between them. They’re so close that he can hear the way Dante’s breathing changes, can see the dilation of his pupils in the dim light.

“Dante.”

Dante looks at him then,  _ really  _ looks at him, and Nero thinks he finally understands the way that Dante sees him. But maybe Dante doesn’t understand the way that Nero sees  _ him _ .

“Please shut up.”

The fingers around his wrist slip away, and Nero barely has the time to feel the absence of Dante’s touch before Dante curves a large hand around the back of his neck, closes the gap between them, and kisses him.

Nero’s mind goes blissfully blank for one very long second before it jumps back into the present with dizzying force, his senses kicking into overdrive.

Dante’s addicting scent is all around him, and the hand against Nero’s neck feels like it's  burning with heat, the roughness of Dante’s calluses scraping against his sensitive skin and grounding him in reality. Dante tastes faintly of alcohol, but mostly sweeter than Nero thought he’d be.

He shuts his eyes, tilting his head upwards, his hands fisting against Dante’s firm chest, the red cloth of Dante’s stupid coat tangling in his fingers, his body going limp and pliable as Dante’s weight pushes him back into the couch.

They break apart as Nero’s back hits the cushions, long enough for Nero to let out a breathless noise of confusion that was possibly supposed to be Dante’s name but ended up getting lost on the way from his brain to his mouth.

Dante ignores him, and goes back to kissing him, which is probably for the best, considering that Nero really has no idea what he would have said had Dante paused to question him. There’s a strange sort of desperation in Dante’s movements, in the way he presses down against Nero, like he’s drowning and Nero is the only thing keeping him afloat.

Nero can’t get over it, the realization of how  _ nice  _ it is to be wanted so badly, especially by Dante.

“Tell me  _ now  _ if you want me to stop, kid. Because I don’t think...” Dante mumbles against his neck, his voice somehow raspier and deeper than normal. It’s a warning if Nero has ever heard one, and he’s too overwhelmed to do anything but tilt his head back further in an invitation to the other.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nero tries to reassure him, not even quite knowing exactly what  _ it _ entails, but if it means getting more of Dante, he’ll happily take it.

Dante groans deeply, his ice blue irises disappearing into the black of his pupils as he looks up at Nero. His hand wanders downwards, unusually tender in the heat of the moment and he flattens his palm against Nero’s lower back, fingers barely slipping in between the waist of Nero’s jeans and his skin. Nero’s mind turns to a fuzzy blank, his head spinning too hard to catch up with what’s happening--or what’s about to happen--

The phone rings, shrill and piercing in the quiet air, and Dante nearly launches off of him, superhuman reflexes snatching up the phone as he leans back in his chair with a would-be casual aura if not for the rather obvious tent in his pants.

“...Devil May Cry,” Dante says into the phone, somewhat breathlessly, shifting awkwardly in his seat as he attempts to find a comfortable position around the obvious obstruction. Nero blinks slowly at him, his thoughts like molasses as he watches Dante’s lips move, but doesn’t comprehend what the other’s saying, like he’s forgotten how to speak English. 

“Yeah. Alright. Sure, I’ll get on it. Cash, up front?”

He watches Dante talk on the phone for a bit longer, taking the time to lay back on the couch and slowly calm his racing thoughts, the flustered shock in his mind slowly giving way to somewhat rational thought.

_ He just kissed Dante.  _ And probably would have done much more than that, had they not been interrupted by the call. He glances downwards, his face flushing bright red as he attempts to think of decidedly unattractive thoughts. 

Nico and Kyrie, alone together. Breasts.  _ Lots  _ of breasts.

To his immense relief, he successfully manages to calm his body down so that at least he and Dante aren’t awkwardly sitting in the same room and being faced with the knowledge of what they’d almost done.

Dante hangs up the phone, placing it back on the register with a slight ding, before clearing his throat, a very stiff silence hanging in between them.

“Well,” Dante turns to him after a while, standing up smoothly, his pants also having returned to their normal state. “Hope you brought your shit, kid. Looks like we’ve got a job to do.”

Nero hears what Dante’s saying, but can’t seem to make himself respond, and ends up sitting there frozen on the couch, staring at Dante blankly. The other man is acting as nonchalant as possible, and is convincing enough that Nero would be fooled, if not for the flicker of doubt in Dante’s eyes, as if he’s wondering if he did the wrong thing.

Dante clears his throat when Nero continues to fail to respond, evidently taking his silence as some sort of disapproval or dismissal.

“Come on, kiddo. You need the practice. And it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, right? I’ll even give you some of the cut. What do you say...25 percent?”

It’s easy enough to tell that he’s nervous, and it’s interesting to see that side of Dante--even more so to know that he’s the source of it. Dante is leaning against his desk, his hands shoved in the pockets of his red coat in an attempt to look carefree, even as he swallows hard. Nero’s eyes track the motion of his Adam’s apple, then move slowly up the strong curve of Dante’s jawline, the rough edge of stubble clinging to Dante’s skin, and then, inevitably, at the mouth that he’d been kissing just a few minutes ago.

He’d really like to do that again, actually, and maybe more than that. 

Dante rubs at the back of his neck with a firm hand, the muscles in his forearms tensing at the motion.

_ Definitely  _ more than that.

“Don’t tell me I broke you,” the older man says, and now he definitely sounds worried. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

He never really thought he’d ever put  _ cute  _ together with a thought about Dante, but it’s true. Nero just so helplessly finds the other likeable. He’s horrible--he eats only pizza and beer, and leaves a mess all over his own house. He walks around in the same tattered red coat every day and never thinks to repair it. His jokes are stupid, and his train of thought probably derails itself every time an intelligent thought tries to make its way out of his brain. But Dante is also funny and kind and impossibly gentle whenever he handles Nero, and he has this incomprehensible way of making Nero feel warm and safe like nobody else can.

Maybe Nero  _ is  _ broken--something is obviously wrong with him.

He’s not so sure he wants to fix it, though.

“Keep the cash,” he answers before his mind can fully catch up with what he’s doing, his own voice almost drowned out by the pounding in his ears. “And take me out to dinner instead. Real shit, this time, not pizza.”

“Uh.”

Dante is gaping at him, apparently speechless for once, and Nero rolls his eyes, standing up and wrapping his hand around Dante’s bicep.

“Come on, old man. I wasn’t expecting to hunt any demons tonight, so we gotta drop by my place and grab my stuff.  _ You’re _ the one going in there, though.”

Dante follows his cue as Nero tugs more insistently at him, getting up from the couch so slowly that Nero wonders if the older man is still with him.

“Don’t tell me  _ I  _ broke  _ you _ .”

Dante’s blue eyes slide downwards to him.

“So...when you say ‘real shit,’ you mean like...burgers?”

Nero can’t help himself. 

He laughs, smothering his smile with his hand. Then he leans upwards, closing the height difference between them, and gently kisses the side of Dante’s face.

“Sure, Dante.”

 

* * *

Nero knows he’s made a mistake the minute he limps back into his own apartment the following afternoon and comes face to face with Nico and Kyrie, who are sitting in the kitchen like a pair of raptors, their heads snapping towards him as he enters.

It takes less than a second for them to put the pieces together, before Nico practically leaps out of her chair with crazed enthusiasm. 

“ _ I knew it!” _ Nico cries, triumphantly, as Kyrie nods serenely next to her, her hands clasped together, a patient smile on her face. Neither of them look even remotely surprised. “It’s Dante, isn’t it?”

_ “What? _ ” Nero squawks indignantly, whipping his head around to look at Nico. “What do you mean, ‘you knew it?’  _ I  _ didn’t even know it! I just found out that I like guys, like,  _ yesterday!” _

Nico shrugs, fingers twitching towards her pocket like she’s reaching for a cigarette, but then sneaks a look at Kyrie and stuffs her hands in her pockets instead, a wild grin on her lips. 

Nero feels a sense of sudden impending dread, similar to what he’d experienced upon witnessing Urizen standing up from his throne for the first time.

“Where do I even start? Honey, you  _ fell asleep  _ while lookin’ at a porn magazine. Hell, you left it behind in the van and  _ Trish  _ snatched it up with more excitement than you did. Every time you see a gal’s exposed skin--whether it be her entire chest or just a tiny lil’ strip at her wrist, you turn into a downright  _ campfire _ . And I’ll be damned if I ever find another man who wears his jeans so tight that his ass--”

“ _ Don’t _ finish that sentence,” Nero interrupts, pulling out a chair and gingerly lowering himself into it so he can drop his face into his hands to hide the blush on his face, only daring to look up when he feels a gentle, sympathetic hand touch his shoulder.

“I’m glad you found out for yourself, Nero,” Kyrie says sweetly, gracing him with a near angelic smile, which he can’t help but weakly return, if only to reassure her of his present mental state. 

“After all,” she continues, and Nero suddenly does  _ not  _ like where this is going. “I’ve suspected for a long while. Remember when we were younger, Nero? You always used to go over to where the Holy Knights were after their training and watch the captain of the guard take off his armor--”

_ “Kyrie!”  _ Nero interrupts, feeling the color drain out of his face then rise back up with full force. Nico looks far too gleeful at this piece of information, leaning forward with wicked delight and Nero begins plotting out several different escape routes from this newfound hellhole he’s fallen into.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it later, babe,” Nico wraps an arm around Kyrie, sharing another one of those private smiles with her.

“No! You will  _ not  _ have to!”

The beating of wings against air and the tapping of a cane against wood signals V and his familiar’s presence. The other man is leaning against the wall, his book open in his left hand, and his cane dangling from the fingers of his free hand.

_ Thank God _ , Nero thinks. They’ve come to save him.

“I heard about your recent development from Vergil, Nero,” V begins, and Nero contemplates moving into his own apartment. Or possibly kicking them all out. Yeah, that sounds good. He’s the one paying the rent, after all. He can kick them all out and bring Dante in instead, so the stupid old man will have somewhere to live that actually has working utilities and he can force Dante to eat something that isn’t pizza.

"...And the gates of this Chapel were shut, and Thou shalt not, writ over the door. So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, that so many sweet flowers bore," V solemnly quotes, as Griffon settles on Nero's shoulder with a loud cackle, his wing swatting against the obvious marks on Nero's neck.

"Well  _ your  _ chapel gates sure aren't staying closed, huh, Nero?" Griffon squawks and V shuts his book with a sharp snap, a satisfied, subtle smile playing on his lips.

“Ah, yes. Indeed, a foreign intruder has thoroughly deflowered the garden.”

Nero lets out some kind of garbled squeak, Griffon flying off of his shoulder with a flurry of feathers as he slaps a hand to his neck, covering up the blemished skin, blushing even redder than before.

“Ha! Good one, chickee!” Nico slaps at her knee, evidently finding everyone’s conjoined attempts to turn Nero into an active volcano amusing. She glances at Nero, who has all but lost the ability to speak and is pondering the very real possibility of committing quadruple murder. 

“Come on, loosen up, asshole! Though, I guess Dante already did a pretty good job of making  _ that  _ happen.”

He’s more than certain that if Griffon had hands, instead of wings, he and Nico would be high fiving each other right now.

“I hate all of you,” He does a quick calculation and decides that, if he activates his Devil Trigger right now, he has about a 90 percent chance of hitting all of them at once. 

Good.

“Keep telling yourself that, Chapel Boy,” Nico ruffles his hair with a firm hand.

Despite their teasing, it’s obvious to Nero that they’re all genuinely happy for him, which is good, because Nero himself has been lost in a strange sort of daze since yesterday. He feels like he’s floating, and still hasn’t quite come back down to Earth, too busy off in a world of his own where it’s only him and Dante and not much else.

“Whatever. I’m too tired for this shit,” Nero groans, very tenderly standing up.

“Yeah, I sure bet you are--don’t imagine you got much sleep last night. Then again, neither did we!”

Kyrie’s face matches Nero’s now in the intensity of their blushing, and he sends her a mildly sympathetic look before flipping off Nico and carefully hobbling up the stairs.

When he’s alone in his room again, he lets himself bury his face in his pillow and smile into it, something he hasn’t been able to stop doing for a long while now. There’s a lot of things he needs to think about--that he should think about, like where he and Dante should go from this point now that things have ended up like this. 

Dante staying with Lady and Trish was only a temporary settlement--as much as the three of them loved each other, Lady and Trish’s relationship is developed to the point that they pretty much require their own place. Maybe he  _ should  _ ask Dante to move in with him--they don’t need another room if Dante sleeps in his bed every night.

Besides, Nero is very much used to taking care of people at this point. One more person certainly couldn’t hurt. Probably.

He might come to regret these words at some point further down along the line, but for now, he’s tired and content, and he rolls over in his blankets, missing the scent of Dante’s coat around him.

But it’s not a big loss.

The real thing is so much better, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am lonely and need danero/kyrico friends  
> please talk to me about gay on twitter  
> https://twitter.com/moolktea


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